Strawberry Fields
by Iffy Jr
Summary: George/Draco. "The only way for George to get over Fred's death is to find love. But when his wooing goes drasticaly awry, he decides that he's okay with just making a friend as well. Until being just friends becomes not enough, of course." COMPLETE.
1. Uno

A/N: 1. No, I did not write another fic with a song/poem intertwined to it. This story is based solely on a single line from the Beatles song "Strawberry Fields Forever": _It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out_. The line is never mentioned in the fic, but it's just what brought it to my head. So yeah!  
>2. Seeing "<strong>OoOoOoO<strong>" and "**XxX**" means that there's been some time that's passed. OoOoOoO generally means more time has passed, but whatever your perception of time is, I use it if any time over a week or more has passed. XxX just means a few days or hours.

3. Also, you'll see that all of the dates I've put in are either on a Monday, Tuesday, or Saturday (except for an exception you'll understand later). I didn't even plan that out. Haha.  
>But in any case, enjoy! :)<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_March 14, a Tuesday…_

"You guys will take good care of it, won't you?" I ask, barely holding back tears. "It…it means a lot to me."

"We know it does, Georgey," Lee says, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Lee, you idiot," Dean says, "He told us not to call him that!"

Seamus pushes Lee's hand off of my shoulder and looks into my eyes. "We'll keep it safe, George. We'll owl you ever week to tell you how it's all working, and you'll get everything you want free, and we'll never change the name or any of the products. Of course, we'll have to add a few things or it all might get a little old…but that's business."

I try to smile at him, but it doesn't work. "Thanks," I manage. "How about you just owl me once every two or three weeks, though... I don't really want to hear about it every week."

"Yeah, alright," Lee says, pushing Dean's hands away from him. "Once every three weeks. And I won't call you…that again. Sorry, old habits die hard."

I nod, and force myself to stand. "I'll leave you guys to it, then."

I get about halfway through the door before Dean grabs my hand. I look back at him, and he's looking up at me with a sad smile. "You know where you're going, right?" he asks quietly.

I nod, meaning yes, which is a blatant lie. I'm planning on staying in a hotel while I look for a new place to stay and a new job.

"Liar," he says.

I look away from him.

"You could stay here," Seamus says. "There are three rooms, and Dean and Lee will be sharing anyway. And we'll help you look for a new place and a new job. We can make it…fun."

I actually smile at him. He's trying so hard, and it's really just awkward.

Its three months after the war. I watched him die. I was beside him. I heard his laughter, and I heard Percy's joke that made him laugh, and I heard his cry when the stones of the castle came down upon him. Nobody else heard it, but I heard it. When you love someone more than you've ever loved anything or ever could love anything, you can hear things that nobody else can hear; sometimes, you can even hear what they're thinking. Fred and I could both do that, after a time. People wondered how we communicated so easily, and all we did was grin at them.

A month ago I gave up. Not hope—you can never have too much hope; besides, Fred would kill me if I gave up hope, and I can't let him down. I gave up on our joke shop. I tried hard to keep it going, for him, but I couldn't do it. I would forget to pay bills or forget to order something for there to be any bills anyway, and people would send letters and I'd forget to feed the owl that brought them and then I'd accidentally use the letter for kindling in the fire before even seeing who it was from.

So I've sold the business to Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and Lee Jordan. It strikes me funny that Lee became friends with the pair of them, but it's even funnier that Lee got together romantically with Dean. If anything I would have bet that Dean got with Seamus, but something else must have happened. I don't care enough to ask what it is that did happen, and they haven't explained it.

I nod at Seamus, letting him know that I'll stay with them.

And so begins the story of my decay.

**OoOoOoO**

_August 30, a Sunday, three years later…_

I'm standing in the middle of the Gringotts bank, for some sort of reason… Wow, I never realized how high this ceiling is. And the building is so crooked… Oh, yeah, I'm supposed to be—nope, it's gone. That is a really cool chandelier. Like, wow, look at those candles burn. I'm jealous. If my flat had chandeliers I would totally ask what brand of candles those are. Alright, I'm here for…something…something about money… Galleons, yeah, I've got a lot of those here. How many am I getting? Am I getting any at all? Merlin, I need the newest Remembrall version. They tell you when you forget things, and what it is that you've forgotten. I hope Neville has one…

"Weasley!" somebody yells.

I spin around twice before I see who's calling me.

"George!" Professor McGonagall calls. Or, Minerva, I suppose, since she's not my professor anymore… "George, it's lovely to see you after so many years!" Of course it's been so many years. Hardly anybody's seen me these last three years. I drift from job to job, and flat to flat, and day to day. I can't stand people asking me how I'm doing or what I've been up to, so I just seclude myself from people. It works wonders.

I make myself look at my old professor. She hasn't changed a bit.

"Hi, Minerva," I say, forcing a smile. I've gotten really good at that. _Really_ good at it. "What brings you here?"

"Money for this coming year at Hogwarts," she says. "The usual thing one would obtain when visiting Gringotts."

Oh, yes, that's what I'm here for. "Oh, is school that close for everyone? What day is it?"

"August thirtieth. Two more days until the first day, and…" She trails off, putting a hand to her forehead. "I haven't even managed to find a Defense against the Dark Arts professor for the year. The one we've had since the war was just hospitalized with a rare disease, and there isn't a single witch or wizard out there who isn't terrified of the job still. Being Headmistress is so much work, Mr. Weasley, you really don't know."

"Well I could do it," I say without thinking. Wow, yeah, definitely not thinking, but I've already said it. Besides, I need the job, and I'll have free food and bed with a job at the school. "Until you find someone better, at least," I continue. "Impossible as it may seem, I remember every last bit of my DaDA classes. I could teach the first bit with my eyes closed."

Minerva smiles so brightly I nearly fall over. "Oh, George, would you? I do believe you when you say that you remember. Your marks were so high in that class! Except your O. still managed to plummet… Nevertheless, I would love for you to be the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor! The students will love you, and you're still so young and animated. I'll keep looking for a new professor, of course, but your pay will be—"

"Stop," I say, holding my hand up. "It doesn't matter about any of that, professor. I'm thrilled to take the job even for free. I just really need food and a place to stay right now."

"Oh, of course, you sold the business to some Gryffindor friends of yours. Yes, well, we'd love to have you. Take the train to the school and we'll see you at the professor's dining table! Your teaching materials will be sent to your office—you don't need to buy any of them except the occasional quill and roll of parchment—and your own things will be sent to your living quarters for the year."

I smile and nod.

"Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Weasley," she says, grabbing my hand and shaking it vigorously. "This is wonderful. I'm so pleased. Thank you. Thank you very much."

And then she's gone, going to get…well, whatever she was getting.

And I've already forgotten what I'm supposed to be getting again. It's going to be a miracle if I even remember to get onto the train September first.

This year is going to be terrible.

**XxX**

_Two days later, on September 1..._

I did miss the train. I knew I would. Thankfully, though, I happen to own a very fast broom, and I had nothing better to do but sleep on the train anyway, so I just flew there. I used a spell to attach all of my trunks to the bottom of my broom, and then I was off.

And the Welcome Feast wasn't much better. I couldn't remember half of the professor's names, but thank Merlin I was seated beside Minerva and Hagrid. Those names I couldn't forget if I tried.

I've set up everything in my office, now. It's funny how many times I've been in here to pull a prank on one of the professors. I never believed I would have to ward it against new pranksters, the ages I used to be.

And now I'm standing in front of the door to my new bedroom. I have no idea what these look like. I never found out. The Marauders Map never even showed where the teachers all slept, except Hagrid and Trelawney. I'm safe. Hmm, I wonder where the map is now… Harry probably still has it. I hope he's happy right now. I know he's become one of the greatest Auror's out there, but that's about it. We never see each other since he's always working, and I'm always avoiding people anyway. I haven't even been to my own families' houses more than twice a year these last three years. I still get mothers famous Weasley sweaters, but I don't even manage to spend Christmas with them, and I even forgot to write her a letter thanking her for it one year.

Sighing, I turn the knob and step into the room. It's a nice room, huge. More like a house than a room. There's a door leading to a bathroom and another to a closet, and the room you step into right away is the bedroom. It's all decorated in Gryffindor colors, which I'm okay with it since that's all I've ever known. The bed is gigantic, as is the lamps, and the chandelier in the middle of the room. I guess I will have to ask Gringotts about those candles. (Damn, I remember wizard bank lighting equipment, but I can't even catch a train I caught for seven years of my life? Good gods.) There's also a large desk with a soft chair, a large dresser with my trunk sitting in front of it, and a smaller dresser with—

I trip. I literally trip. Over my own feet, onto the floor, flat on my face.

And the reason for my tripping bursts into laughter.

I pushing myself onto my hands and knees and look back on top of the smaller dresser to see if I'm hallucinating.

I'm not. It's really there, and it's really him.

There, on the dresser, facing me, is a portrait of him. Not just a picture that you take that waves at you for eternity, but the kind of pictures that are made of past Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses. He's even the age that he would be now, not the age he'd be when he died. We'll be able to talk, and we'll be able to laugh, and we'll be able to cry.

That's what we do first. We cry. I burst into tears, and he does too, and I hold his portrait to my chest and his fingers scrape the edge of the frame to get out and hold me back—but he doesn't manage it.

"Fred!" I sob. "Fred! Fred!" I sob his name over and over. There's nothing else to do. Three years without hearing his voice and I've practically gone insane. There's nothing else to do.

"George!" he sobs in return. Over and over and over again. His voice is the most pleasurable thing I've ever heard in my entire lifetime.

I feel like we cry for hours, but it's finally out of our systems.

Then we laugh. Mostly at Percy's joke, but also at the things I've done since he's been gone. He laughs at the friendship of Dean, Seamus, and Lee, and he laughs at my fascination with candle brands, and he especially laughs at my astounding memory in general. Honestly, it's terrible, and I know it. Without him here to remind me of things I just…well, I don't think about them.

And then we sleep. I sprawl out right in the middle of the floor, right in front of the door. I'm not even on the rug beside the bed; I'm on the stone on the rest of the floor. I hold his portrait beside my face, with my hand resting over his body (it's a generally small portrait; just the size of my head). He falls asleep first, but he also wakes up first.

I open my eyes with a yawn, stretching my arms out and rubbing my face against the floor—which kind of hurts, actually.

"You still do that?" Fred says beside me.

I turn my face so I can look at him, staring up at me from his two-dimensional portrait.

"Do what?" I ask, thankful he can't smell my morning breath.

"Rub your nose against wherever you're sleeping," he says with a warm smile.

I roll my eyes. "If you had a bed in there I bet you'd still curl your fingers into your hair, too. Old habits die hard, Freddie."

"Can I tell you a secret, Georgie?" he whispers.

"You can tell me anything," I reply, leaning up on one of my elbows to look down at him better.

"Do you remember when we talked about what are families would be like when we finally got married?"

"Yes…" I have no idea where this is going.

"I don't want any kids, because that means that I have to have a girlfriend, and I don't like—"

"I know," I say, grinning down at him. "I don't like them either."

He looks like he's about to cry again. "I wish I had told you. It wasn't that I was keeping it a secret from you…"

"It just didn't come up," I say, finishing his sentence. "We talked about…what, three girls, at the most? But we never got farther than magic tricks with them, or we just didn't talk to them at all."

"I have another secret…"

"I love you," I blurt. I've waited too long to say it. I'm never going to hold back anything now.

He puts his hand over his mouth and starts to cry, silently, tears streaming down his cheeks. "We could have had so much, George," he finally says.

"But we did, Fred! We had everything! I've never been closer to anybody. Do you remember our first memory? We were still in the womb, I swear. You grabbed my thumb, and you wouldn't let go. That's why I sucked my thumb until I was six."

"And that's why I would grab your thumb when I wanted to reassure you… I remember. I couldn't forget it."

"I wish I could touch you again, Fred," I say, moving my elbow so I can lie back down. "My thumb and I miss you holding it."

"Wishing is all we can do for now," Fred says, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "We got this wish, didn't we? To speak again? We'll just have to wait a little longer to be able to play with each other's hair again."

"You look lovely in light pink bows, you know."

"Yes, and you look lovely in blue. Shut up about my looking good in pink; you made fun of me when I was…well, shut up anyway."

I sigh and roll onto my back. "Who made you?"

"Come again?"

"Your portrait, I mean. Who put you into a portrait?"

"I have no idea. One minute everything is black, the next I'm sitting in an empty bedroom."

"And the next thing I'm showing up." I roll over further to see if there's a note on the dresser where the frame first stood when I came into the room.

And low and behold, there is.

I reach over and grab it, rolling back over to face Fred before I read it out loud:

_Mr. George Weasley,  
>I believe that you would very much like to have this.<br>It will last until destroyed, and there cannot be another, so keep it close. Though I know you wouldn't dream of letting it out of your sight in the first place.  
>But of course, that is what I'm worried about.<br>Albus Dumbledore_

I look away from the note and down to Fred; both of us are blinking with confused looks at each other.

"I bet Minerva just wants to mess with us…" I say, setting the note back on the dresser.

"Either that or you're losing your mind."

"Already lost, Freddie."

**OoOoOoO**

_The middle of November, two years later…_

"Professor Weasley, are you all right?" a girl's voice says quietly.

I lean my head up from me desk to see Chuckie and Miranda Valentine (male and female twins; I love how different their names are), two Hufflepuff second years, standing in the doorway to my office. Chuckie's hair is beyond ginger, but Miranda's is a brown that's nearly black. Both of them have green eyes, though, the color of the Slytherin snake.

"Pardon?" I say, using the sleeve of my robes to wipe my eyes from the tears that had spilled from it. Fred is sleeping in his portrait, sitting on my desk and facing away from anybody who walks in. Nobody has ever seen him except Minerva, and she only commented on it once before ever bringing it up again.

"We asked if you were alright, sir," Chuckie says. They have their hands wrapped tightly into the others, and it takes so much in me not to burst into more tears. They remind me so much of Fred and me, even if Miranda's a girl and she looks nothing like Chuckie.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, faking a bright smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"We've…we've been here for a long time, sir," Miranda says quietly. "You've been…been crying for a long time, too."

I sigh. "Alright, so I'm not fine. Don't trouble yourself with it, though. You're much too young to concern yourself with the personal affairs of your teachers. Now, what brings you to my office? Questions about today's lesson?"

"No, sir," Chuckie says, walking into the room and stopping in front of my desk, pulling Miranda with him. "Something about those personal affairs, actually."

I sigh again. "What about them, Mr. Valentine?"

"Well, erm, one of the professors told us to come…to come and check up on you, because they're worried about you."

"Who?" I ask, wiping my eye again. It kind of hurts, now. Probably an eyelash got pushed into it or something.

"They said we can't tell you who they are, but they did say that we could tell you that it's not professor McGonagall or Hagrid," Miranda says, looking around the room in an absentminded way.

I sigh. Again. I hate sighing. Who else would it be? Slughorn, maybe, but then again with that in mind it could be Flitwick or Trelawney or anybody else as well.

"What does their name start with?" I ask.

They fidget a bit, casting glances at each other.

"I won't tell anybody if you just tell me," I say. "I promise."

"Filch," they say at the exact same time. Ah, how I love being the most adored professor in the school.

I blink at them. "Filch? That's odd. Why is he worried about me?"

"He said that if you figured it out you should ask him yourself," Chuckie says. "And he says to bring the portrait. I don't know which one he means. Do you?"

My eyes dart to the sleeping portrait of Fred on the desk, and their eyes follow. I reach out and slap it down so that they can't see it no matter what, and they jump slightly.

"Personal affairs," I say, bringing my hand back to me. "I'd rather not explain it." How Filch found out about the portrait, though, is beyond me.

They nod awkwardly.

"Is that all, now?" I ask, tenting my fingers together.

They nod.

"I see you in tomorrow's lesson, then. Have a wonderful afternoon, kids."

They leave the room in silence, but as soon as they're past my door they start to whisper:

"I bet Filch will tell us, if we ask him," Miranda says.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Chuckie replies. "He wouldn't tell us earlier."

"Well, maybe…" Miranda's voice trails off.

It's _amazing_ that they're friends with Filch. I've always been under the impression that he hates everybody, but they've been seen trailing after him like his own children (that he doesn't have) more often than anything else. They love him, which is honestly beyond my comprehension.

I drop my head back to the table.

**XxX**

_One hour later…_

I knock quietly on the door to Filch's office, the portrait of Fred tucked under my arm where nobody can see him. He's awake, because I woke him up, and I still haven't told him what we're doing.

The door opens on its own, and when I'm far enough inside it closes. It looks the exact same as it always has. I've been in here so many times it's ridiculous, rigging the room to dump something on Filch or to trap Mrs. Norris. People think Fred and I did bad to the school, but what we did to it was _nothing_ compared to the things we've done to professor Filch, his office, and his cat.

"There you are, professor," a voice says from the corner of the room. "I knew the Valentine's would tell you."

I turn to see Filch sitting on an old, ugly, wooden chair, Mrs. Norris being petted in his lap.

"Lo', Filch," I say, sitting in the same looking chair beside him. "When have _you_ ever worried about _me_?" I ask, a smile on my face.

"Only recently, actually."

"Why on earth would you? I've been hell for you since the moment I walked through the Hogwarts doors."

"Do you remember, Mr. Weasley, the last day of your fourth year, and the lovely present you left in this office?"

I grin. Cabbage bombs. They weren't even that great or terrible, but they stunk like all hell and Fred and I had made them to have a lasting smell for the next few days. It was brilliant.

"Of course," I say, trying to hide my grin. It doesn't work, and he notices.

"I gained respect for you and your brother that day, you know. Only you and your brother have ever managed to get into my office, since the first day of my work to this very moment. And all of the things you've done, I could never prove that it was you; no matter how obvious that it was you. And of course, Albus wouldn't let me punish anybody without any proof, much to my dismay. But I respected you for your pranking talent; still do, because I know you were the one that put the stink bomb in the Slytherin boys Quidditch changing room. So much for a respected professor, isn't that right, Mr. Weasley?"

I duck my head so he doesn't see my grin, and when I look back up I have a confused look across my face. "I haven't any idea what you're talking about, Filch," I say.

The glint in his eyes lets me know he's fully aware that I'm lying through my teeth.

"Did you bring the portrait?"

"Oh!" I completely forgot about Fred. I pull him out of the spot beside my arm and hold him so that he's facing Filch.

"Heyuh, Filch!" Fred says brightly, waving from his spot inside the frame. "I hear George 'n I have gained your respect!"

Filch grins toothily. It's weird; the only time I've ever seen him smile is when somebody is in trouble, and then he just looks evil.

"You're sad, George," he says, looking away from Fred and up to me. "I think you should do something about it."

I frown. "Nice of you to be concerned, but I really don't want to."

"I don't mean a counselor, Mr. Weasley. I mean a real person."

I blink at him. What, counselors aren't real people? I know plenty of counselors, and they're pretty real to me…

"Filch, are you telling me to get a girlfriend?"

Do mine eyes deceive me? Does Filch…is Filch blushing? I need a drink.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Fred says. "We're not really into that thing."

Filch's eyes widen. "I was unaware you were gay, Mr. Weasley."

I snort. I never thought I'd hear Filch say those words. Hell, I never even thought I'd hear him say he respects me. Or see him blush. Or be _invited_ into his office… I _really_ need a drink.

"Most aren't," I say, looking down at Fred, who's looking up at me and winking. "A handful of students, know, though. And I believe Minerva does. And probably Trelawney, while we're at it."

"I suppose having a heart-to-heart discussion with professor McGonagall about your most recent boyfriend breakup wouldn't…" He coughs. "It would be awkward."

"You can say that again."

"Filch, leave it to me!" Fred says, putting his hands into fists and resting them on his hips. "I'll see to it that Georgey here gets himself a man, no matter how long it takes. I'm thrilled you put the idea into my head. George, get up, we need to talk."

I frown down at the portrait. "Fred, what are you—"

"Up!" he says.

I jump up automatically, cradling Fred's portrait to my chest. "I…I guess I'm going now," I say, looking down at him still sitting in the old chair. "Thanks for the concern and stuff."

Filch nods. "Till dinner tonight," he says, waving a grubby hand at me.

"Till then!" Fred and I say, waving to him as we leave the room.

The instant I get back into my office, Fred tells me to close the door (I do), sit down (I do that too), and set him up so that he's in front of me and facing me (to which I also do).

"Do you love me?" he asks, sitting down in the chair that's in his portrait with him.

"More than anything," I say, nodding vigorously.

"Then do it."

"Do what?"

"Get a boyfriend."

I blink at him. "You're not serious."

"I'm completely serious."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not kidding."

"I thought you were joking when you told Filch you were thrilled for having the idea put into your head!"

"I wasn't, and I'm still not." He sighs. "You'll be happier with somebody, George, instead of just wishing you could be with me. I know you were crying earlier."

I duck my head. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"I don't doubt I wasn't, but I did, and now we've got to talk about it. Why exactly were you crying?"

I sigh, looking back up at him. "Because I want you alive again," I whisper, fighting back more tears. "I want you back so there doesn't have to be a frame and a canvas between us when we sleep, so we can hold hands and kiss and get our joke shop back. I miss you, Fred, and that's all there is to it."

He smiles sadly at me. "That's exactly the reason you need a boyfriend. Those things that you wish for will never happen, George, and we've got to do something so you can move on."

"What if I don't want to move on?"

"I don't care if you do or not, you've got to. I love you, but I'm not going to keep you from finding someone you can actually be with. In fact, I want you to fall in love with somebody else. I want you to come back from a date and tell me all about what happened, if it was a disaster or if you're going to go see him again. I want to hear about the restaurant you go to and the drinks you buy each other and who kisses whom first. I want to hear about the nights you spend with him and the way his fingers tangle through your hair and the color his eyes darken to when you end up in bed. I don't want to see your eyes filled with tears, or the empty Firewhiskey bottles hanging limply from your hand in the summers when you're living in the joke shop with Lee and Dean and Seamus. I don't want to hear the pain in your voice when you tell me you love me. I want to see you love someone else, George. You've got to move on."

The tears spill over, and I drop my head into my hands.

He whispers soothingly to me until I stop and look back up at him, the salt of my tears sticking to the streaks on my face.

"I don't know if I could do that, Fred," I whisper, taking his picture and cradling it against my chest. "It would be so hard…"

"That's why you find somebody who understands it. There are all sorts of places that sad people go to meet other sad people, and you can tell them that your last love died and you just want to go slow. Chances are the same will have happened to them, so they'll want to do the same."

"Yeah, as if I'll actually be able to find someone like that."

"Actually, I'm thinking of someone already…"

I blink at him. "Who?"

"Orphaned, black hair, green eyes, and glasses. Ring a bell?"

"No…"

He gives me the kind of look you would give somebody who's being an idiot. "Harry, you twat!"

"Oh! Oh, Harry, of course." I _am_ an idiot. "But…I don't even know how to get a hold of him. I don't know anything about the outside world anymore."

The only people who don't either work at Hogwarts or who go here as a student that I've kept in contact with are Lee, Dean, and Seamus. They never tell me anything because I told them not to, and I never go into the actual selling part of the shop unless it's closed and empty. I don't read any newspapers, I don't listen to the radio, and the curtain on my window has been glued to the walls around it since I sold the three men the business. The one thing that's been impossible for me to _not_ hear about is deaths, though, and I don't even remember half of the ones I hear. And besides, even if I did want to get a hold of Harry it would take months for us to actually get in touch. His being an Auror and my being the Defense against the Dark Arts professor makes it nearly impossible for us to see each other since he's always out saving the world and I'm always teaching.

I don't spend the whole summer at the joke shop, though. Sometimes I go as far from everybody as possible, or I get a job for the next few months instead of mooching off of Lee and Dean and Seamus. I've gone to Egypt twice, and one time I went into the middle of the Amazon Jungle. I've been afraid of spiders ever since... And then there was that one time that I went to try and see what Charlie's job is like. I don't like dragons anymore, either.

"Send a letter," Fred says, bringing me out of my thoughts. "Right now. And you can ask Minerva to owl it; I'm sure she knows where he's living, now."

With a sigh, I set up a piece of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill.

"What do I say?"

"That'd you'd like to see him. Don't tell him why, though. Just say it."

I dip the quill into the ink and write:

_Dear Harry,  
>It's been so long since we've seen each other, and even longer since we've spoken. I was wondering if you'd like to get together sometime, to catch up a bit.<br>Yours truly, George Weasley_

I read it out loud to Fred, and he nods his approval. "Short and to the point," he says. "Sort of, if you pretend you're not trying to fall in love with him. I like it. Chop, chop, now, you haven't got all day."

I fold the parchment and stick it into an envelope, writing "_Harry Potter_" across the front in curling, maroon colored writing.

I leave the room, Fred in my hand, without hesitation to go find Minerva.

**OoOoOoO**

_Two months later, in the middle of December..._

"George!" Fred says as I walk into my bedroom. "George, there's a letter on your pillow! It's from Harry! Open it, open it!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Freddie," I say, sitting on the bed and picking up the letter. "He might not even want to see me."

I use my wand to open the letter without ripping anything and read out loud for Fred's sake:

_Dear George,  
>It's been eons since we've seen each other, and geological years since we've spoken. You never spend any of the holidays with your family anymore, so there's no chance for us to catch up. I'd love to get together; we have so much to catch up on! If you're not busy, meet me at my house on the twenty-seventh of December. I hardly ever take any days off, but I'm spending the entire Christmas week away from work. Everybody says it's my much-earned vacation.<br>Happy Christmas!  
>Sincerely, Harry<em>

"I bet he's straight," I say before Fred can comment.

"He better not be, or you've just been crying in your sleep for the last month and a half for nothing."

I frown. "I cry in my sleep?"

"Nearly every night," Fred says, nodding.

I sigh. "What day is it today?" I ask.

"Christmas Eve."

"Merlin, I never know what's going on when nobody's here. These breaks are killing me."

Fred rolls his eyes. "Go to bed, George. It's late."


	2. Dos

**Chapter Two**

_December 27, a Tuesday…_

I knock loudly against the Muggle door, and a few moments later it swings open to reveal a man with emerald green eyes, untidy black hair, and wearing a maroon sweater with a golden H on the front. Ah, yes, the famous Molly Weasley sweaters. It is two days after Christmas, after all. I'm wearing mine as well, underneath my heavier jacket and scarf.

"George!" Harry says brightly. "George, I haven't seen you in years! Come in, come in!"

He steps aside to let me pass, and as I do I say, "Hello, Harry, it's wonderful to see you again. Thank you." I refrain from commenting on his not seeing me for a few years. I already know why I've secluded myself; I don't give a damn if others do.

Harry ushers me deeper into the house until I'm in a warm, red and green decorated living room. Even the fire is licking around the logs in its regular orange color and then the extra hot green.

"Pardon my stereotypical Christmas decorations," he says. "The color green has really grown on me."

Sitting down in one of the cushioned chairs, I give him a confused look. "Whatever for?" I ask.

And suddenly, as if on cue, there's a large bang in one of the other rooms, followed by a scream.

"Erm, I'll be right back," Harry says, disappearing out of the room.

I pull off my scarf and jacket and lay them over my legs, listening to the conversation unfolding in the other room:

"It was an accident, I swear!" the voice that screams says. I can't quite figure out who it is, but it's…familiar.

"It was an accident this morning, too!" Harry says. "Merlin, I don't know why I ask you to cook anything, you just start everything on fire."

"It's not my fault fire and I like each other so much!"

"Yes, you said that when you blew up the microwave, too." Microwave?

"Oh, posh, it was old anyway." Posh? Merlin, I should get out while I still can.

"Yeah, and expensive. Let's see you go out and pay for Muggle things with all that gold of yours. Honestly, if the Ministry didn't pay me in both Muggle and wizard money by request I don't know what I'd do."

"Move to a wizard house so you don't _need_ Muggle things? I've told you for years, Harry, they're just going to weigh you down."

"No, _you're_ weighing me down. Honestly, I don't know why I let you stay here sometimes. Don't you have _family_?"

"If you count the father in Azkaban for life, the mother that died of heartbreak, and the dead aunt that was insane anyway…no, I do not." That is _really_ familiar…Merlin, can't they argue out here so I can see whom this is?

There's a short silence, and I can actually hear the awkward from over here.

"I knew that," Harry says quietly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up. I just…that's the third batch of brownies today, Draco, I wish you'd read the directions or something."

I snort. Draco. Draco Malfoy. Good gods, it all makes sense now! A father in Azkaban, and I heard about his mother dying… I didn't care at all, as horrible as that sounds. I know what it's like to lose somebody, so I should have at least felt kind of bad. But I had so much fun beating him up in fifth year… And his aunt, Bella-something. My _own_ mother killed her. That I still root for, and I have no regrets in the matter.

"Its fine, Harry," Draco says in a regular voice. "You know I'm fine. But, hey, I have an idea… Let's just summon that cake your neighbor made this morning. It's chocolate, and she has four more. She won't even miss it!"

Harry snorts. "You're still evil, Draco. Now, just don't do anything, okay? And that includes summoning Ms. Maudie's chocolate cake. There's somebody in the living room that I've completely neglected by talking to you, so I hope you're happy."

"Oh, who is it?"

"George Weasley."

"Ooh, _he_ hasn't been here before. Remember when I went with you to celebrate Halloween with them? George wasn't there. I haven't seen him since…well, you know, the war. Can I see him too?"

"I've got a feeling he'd punch you in the face, actually. How about you just stay here and I call you in when it's safe…"

"Or I can look out for myself, thank you very much. Lead the way, Potty."

Harry grumbles unintelligibly to himself, and the next thing I know he's walking back into the room, followed by a thin man with platinum blonde hair the same length as my short cut, steel grey eyes, and a height above Harry by about four inches. He may even be taller than I am, but I won't know until we stand next to each other. And I really hope that never happens, because I do actually want to punch him in the face, just a little bit…

"Still ginger, I see," Malfoy says with a crooked grin, sitting down in one of the other chairs in the room.

"Shut up, Draco," Harry says, glaring at Malfoy as he sits down in a third chair. He turns to me with an apologetic look. "Sorry about him, George," he says. "He's still an arse; hasn't changed a bit."

"Obviously he's changed some," I say, eyeing Malfoy, "if you're on a first name basis with him…"

"Oh!" Malfoy says, pulling his wand out to play with the fire. "You don't know?"

I blink at him. Wow, his face would look lovely with my fist imprinted on it… "Know what?"

"Why, everybody loves me now," he says. I see Harry rubbings his temples in the corner of my eye. "I've gotten your mothers famous sweaters for two years now, see?" He summons said sweater; it's green with a large silver D on the front, of course. "Even Hermione and I send letters on occasion," he continues. "Of course, she's got Weasley. I mean, not that I'm trying to get with her or anything. She's not my type."

"Girls aren't your type, Draco," Harry says. "Now shut up and let me talk to my guest myself. Merlin, it's a good thing you don't live here permanently."

Girls aren't his type? What?

"Wait, wait, wait," I say, holding my hands up. "I'm interested now. Sorry, Harry, but…well, anyway, Malfoy. I heard something about girls in that sentence."

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. "Well, if you're looking for a girl, you've come to the wrong place. Harry and I gave those up years ago."

Harry, too? Merlin, I really need to stop secluding myself from everybody.

But now there _is_ hope! Fred and I were afraid he'd be straight, but…well, no need to think about that now.

"Yes, I see that look in your eye," Malfoy says, breaking my train of thought. "You don't like 'em either, do you? They're filthy creatures; always want you to buy them things and touch them everywhere and they never want to do anything for _you_!" He stretches in the chair so that he can move one of the logs in the fire over a bit. Why he didn't just use a spell to move it, I don't know. "Besides, men are right attractive, we are. Don't you agree, Harry?"

"Yes, Drake," Harry says, sighing. "And no, George, there's nothing going on between us, before you ask, because I know you're thinking it." (It's true. I was thinking it.) "Everybody who learns and hears about him living here on occasion asks, and I'm sick of it. We're just friends, and that's how it's going to stay. Would you like some tea? I would give you some brownies, but Draco ruined them."

It is amazing how quickly subjects change here.

"No thank you," I say, pushing my fingers through my hair. "I'm good."

"And still ginger," Malfoy mutters under his breath.

"George," Harry says, glaring at Malfoy, "I really am sorry about him. Just…just ignore him. Draco, you're going to be the death of me, I swear." He turns back to me. "George! Alright! It's lovely to see you again! What brings you all the way out here? You usually spend Christmas at the school."

"I did spend Christmas at the school," I say, tearing my glare away from Malfoy and looking happily at Harry. "It's two days after Christmas, now. I'm just…well, I'm sort of intruding, actually."

"Nonsense! Any Weasley is allowed here whenever they please, you should know that. Why, Ron was just here last week with Hermione. I didn't even know they were here until I got out of the shower, and they had settled down in front of my TV—er, it's a Muggle thing, just go with it—without even announcing their arrival."

I smile and nod awkwardly.

"So what brings you here, anyway? It can't be the company. I mean, if it is, you might want to leave."

Malfoy rolls his eyes, but I manage to fake a smile.

"I was assuming it'd be just you, actually," I say, examining a freckle on my arm so I don't have to look at him. He might see my entire plan in my eyes or something. If only Malfoy wasn't here…it's so much easier to come on to somebody when there's not an audience.

I look up at Harry right as he asks, "Just droppin' by to say hello then?" and leans forward in his chair a bit. "That's odd. You haven't even done that to Molly."

Heat wells up in my face and I look back down at the freckle on my arm. It's shaped kind of like an eggplant. I hate eggplants.

"I had an idea to," I lie. "But I decided to squash the idea since, if I do, she and anybody else at the house will ask me how I've been and what I've been up to and all the usual questions I hate answering."

Harry sighs—and, actually, so does Malfoy.

"Draco," Harry says, "would you mind—"

"Way ahead of you, hun," Draco says, putting his wand away as he gets into a standing position. His chair happens to be right beside Harry's, and he leans down and kisses him on the cheek. "Floo me?"

"Always," Harry says, pushing him away.

Malfoy sticks his tongue out and is gone, Apparating away to wherever it is he goes.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, pinches the bridge of his nose, and sighs. "I hate that man," he mutters.

"Just friends, then?" I say with a grin, because a frown would be awkward.

He opens his eyes and drops his hand, smiling in a fake-annoyed way. "Let's just say that he likes being close to people. But I can assure you, Malfoy and I will never be together. He's got his sights on some other guy he works with, and anyway, he's not my type. Honestly, he's the exact opposite of it. He's rude and overdramatizes everything and…" He groans. "Too many things to explain. He's a right mate to have around, though. Makes everything funnier. You'd never have guessed it, but he's the biggest optimist you will ever meet. It's weird. And—Merlin, what am I doing? Telling you about Draco Malfoy? Good gods, he's around too often. Uh…" He coughs. "Sorry, yeah, just friends. Sure you don't want some tea?"

Time to put my plan into action.

"I'd love some, actually," I say, leaning forward in my chair. "I said no before because all I could think about was the fact that I did indeed want to punch Malfoy in the face."

Harry snorts. "I was afraid you would hear all of that," he says, pulling out his wand to summon some tea. "Well, not afraid, I suppose… The thought just crossed my head." He catches the tea and gets up to give it to me, sitting down in the chair beside mine. (Wow, I never realized how many chairs are in here. He must have company _often_.) "Don't hurt me if you don't like it. It's something new that Draco helped me put together, and we both like it, but nobody else has had it before. You don't mind testing it, do you?"

"You and Malfoy?" I ask skeptically, taking the cup. "I might have to refuse. What's its flavor?"

"Erm, kind of like cherries and cinnamon… An odd combination, but it's good."

"Cheers, then." I take a small sip, and—"Oh, this is actually really good." It is an odd combination, but…well, it's good. "Do you brew tea concoctions often?" I take another sip.

"A lot of things, actually," he says, summoning his own cup. "You heard me yelling at Malfoy about why it's insane to me why I even let him cook anything?"

"Yes, I heard."

"Well, we cook often. My neighbor, Ms. Maudie, invites us over to try some of her things, and we do the same for her. It's great fun. We've won a few Muggle cooking contests, even. I think he's better at it than I am, though. Draco, I mean. Of course, he tends to blow things up more often than not, but when he does manage to get everything…well, not all over the kitchen, it's amazing. This one time he made a brilliant blueberry pie. Of course, that was following directions from an online recipe, but it was wonderful nonetheless. I'm so glad I've taught him how to use most Muggle things. He can use a phone now, too. Ooh, and a microwave, and a…" He trails off with a sigh. "I'm so sorry, George." He throws his cup of tea—it's empty now, I didn't even notice him drink it; I was too busy listening to his voice—across the room and it shatters against the wall, making me jump. "Gods, I love doing that," he says, sinking into his chair. "I can fix it later with magic. I couldn't do that when I was younger."

"Harry, you look really tense," I say, tilting my head to see him better. I'm not kidding, either. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. "I could…um…" I don't want to suggest a back massage. I'm trying to come onto him, but I don't want to make it obvious. "Well, I was going to say make something warm to eat, but seeing as I don't know where anything is, nor can I cook to save my life, that's probably a bad idea."

Harry chuckles. "Yeah, I'd hate to find out you're worse at making your way around Muggle appliances than Draco. I could make something. I might as well, since you're over. I've got to eat dinner some time."

"I don't think so," I say, setting my cup down on the small table beside me. "I was trying to think of something that would make you feel better, not put you to work. Let's think of something else."

"Good idea," he says, twirling his fingers together.

"We could just sit and talk," I say, leaning onto the armrest. "It's true that you haven't seen me in years. It feels longer than that, too. How have you been?"

He smirks at me. "I hate answering those questions too, George. That's why I have so many chairs, because I invite everybody over all the time. I have them over so often that there's no need to ask how we are and what we've been up to, because we all already know."

Brilliant. He's even better than I imagined he'd be. Fred will be thrilled.

"What's your favorite color, then?" I ask with a warm smile.

He blushes. "You'll laugh at me."

"Mine's lavender," I say with a grin. "I don't think yours could be much worse."

"It's worse. And no, it's not pink. It's green… Slytherin green."

I manage to hold back most of my laugh with a snort. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," he says, shaking his head. "I meant it when I said green has grown on me. And I meant even more that Draco is over too often. It's funny how he's still my best friend after meeting nearly every single wizard in the world, and even a load of Muggles that know about the whole thing. Good gods, I need to get out more."

He repairs the teacup, summons it back to him, and then throws it again.

"_He's_ your best friend?" I say, using my wand to refill the tea in my own cup. "What happened to you and Ron being mates?"

"Oh, Ron's still my best friend, too. There's no law against having two best friends, is there?"

I hear it in his voice. "Malfoy's number one though." I make sure it doesn't sound like a question.

Harry sighs. "Yeah, he is. Ron's got Hermione, and since I don't have anybody like that"—lovely to hear, Harry, even though you're down in the dumps about it; maybe I can help you with that—"Draco's sort of been filling the void, you know? Anyway, somewhere along the lines I realized I'd rather spend a day with Draco than with Ron. Even though he is rude and dramatic and defiant and hates everybody and likes to mess with people and…" He trails off with another sigh. "George, I need help."

"I've noticed," I say, chuckling. "You have a slight case of O-M-D."

He blinks at me. "Obsessive Malfoy Disorder? Really?"

I grin guiltily. "First witty thing that came to my head."

"Should have said Obsessive Draco Disorder. Then it would have been O-D-D, and I'd be odd."

"Harry, you throw cups at walls and then repair them so you can do it again. You _are_ odd."

He laughs. "I'm glad you came over, George. It's been too long. You'll hate me for it, but I've got to ask… What _have_ you been up to?"

I shrug. Strangely enough, I really don't care that he's asking this question. I don't even have to fake not caring. "Oh, you know, the usual Defense against the Dark Arts professor stuff."

He cocks and eyebrow. "Let me see here. Professor Quirrel shared a head with Voldemort and then died. Professor Lockheart lied to everybody and then lost his memory; he's still in Saint Mungo's, you know. Professor Lupin turns into a werewolf every full moon. Professor Moody got locked into a chest and impersonated. Professor Umbridge was hated by everybody but Filch and ended up captured by centaurs. And finally Professor Snape, becomes a Death Eater, tries to get out of it, and ends up getting bitten by Voldemort's pet snake on the neck—and, to his ultimate joy, I'm the last person that he sees before he dies.

"So what you're telling me is that, you share bodies with Dark wizards, write books about yourself, howl at the moon, have a secret friendship with Filch, and you're an ex-Death Eater? Oh, and for a look into your future, I'll be the last person you see before I die. Huh, that's funny." He summons my cup to him and takes a drink. "I never would have guessed."

"You're killing me, Harry," I say, snatching my glass back before he drinks the rest of it. "I meant that I've just been teaching kids and helping out pranksters. And sleeping. I do a lot of sleeping."

"What, you don't eat much?"

I shrug. "I'm never that hungry. Too busy sleeping to eat."

"Wow," he says, repairing his cup. "The difference between us is astounding. All I do is things with food. I can't remember the last time I slept."

"Go to sleep, then," I say. "I can leave and you can sleep. Malfoy's gone so he can't interrupt you."

Harry leans forward so that his elbows are against his knees. "I'm afraid he'll always be able to interrupt me. He always seems to know when I'm not busy anymore."

"Busy doing what?"

"Well, talking to you, for example. As soon as you're gone he'll be back."

I raise an eyebrow. "What, you think he has some sort of thing to watch your or something? That's a bit odd…"

"We've already talked about my being odd; I don't think talking about his will change the fact."

"I'll stay here, then. You can go to sleep and I'll…I don't know, play with the fire."

He chuckles. "He'll come back anyway."

We're silent for a few moments. I sip my tea, and he rubs his temples.

"Hey, George?" Harry says at length, turning his head in my direction but not really looking at me.

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember, in fifth year, that one time you found me crying in my room…?"

"When you were supposed to be at the end of year feast?" I say, turning to actually look at him.

"Yeah, that. And you…um…"

Wow. This is brilliant. I didn't even have to suggest it myself.

"And I rubbed your shoulders until you fell asleep?" I say, forcing myself to keep my hands away from him.

"Yeah, that. Could you…um…there's this spot on my left shoulder…"

"I _told_ you you were tense, Harry," I say, getting into a standing position. "I'd love to. Anything for the great savior of the wizarding world."

He leans off of his elbows and smirks at me. "I hate it when people call me that."

"Well I would have called you the Chosen One, or the Boy Who Lived, but both of those are wildly overused."

"Yes, because savior of the wizarding world totally isn't."

"Quite with the sarcasm, Harry. Do you want a massage or not?"

"Oh, alright, alright. Where should I…uh…where do you want me?"

"Wherever's the most comfortable for you." Please say bed. That'd be lovely. Please say it.

"As awkward as it is, I'm going to have to say my bed."

I smile. "Lead the way, then."

He leads me down a few hallways and into a room swathed in maroon and silver.

"No green, at least," I say, chuckling.

It's a small room, with a queen sized bed, a large dresser, a tiny closet, no windows, and posters of famous Auror's (Mad-Eye Moody and Nymphadora Tonks are two of them, actually) and snowy owls and an assortment of other things line the walls. There's exactly room enough between the things on the floor for one person to walk through, and that's it.

"Homey, too," I says as he kicks off his shoes. I do too, subtly.

"I've had small living spaces my entire life," he says, pulling off his sweater to reveal a thin, white, wife-beater tank top. "First the broom cupboard, then a room even smaller than this, and _then_ sharing a room with four other guys. Not to mention whenever I was over at your house I slept with Ron. I've stayed over at Draco's house a couple of times, and it's horrible. I end up sleeping in the nearest closet, and even the smallest one is the size of this room. He makes fun of me beyond anything for it. Anyway, would it be easier without the tank top, or what?"

"Whichever you prefer," I say, walking over to him.

Please take it off. Please take it off.

"Off it goes, then." He pulls it off, turning it inside out in the process.

I force myself not to let out a happy sigh. This is going perfectly. Not to mention he's beyond attractive, with his taut Quidditch/Auror muscles and his golden pink skin and the thin triangle of black hair trailing into his pants. I'll have to get to know that.

"Turn around," I say, going to stand in front of him. "Sit backwards on the edge of the bed."

He does, and I use my wand to squirt some lotion into my hand. "Don't mind lotion, do you?" I ask before I touch him.

"The more the merrier," he says, turning his neck to smile at me.

I smile back, and then set to work on _his_ back. I rub the lotion all of his back, and sweet Merlin, I didn't know you got back muscles from playing Quidditch. Does he even play anymore? "Wow," I say, pressing my thumbs into the middle of his back in a light swirling motion. "You have incredible muscles back here. Do you still play Quidditch?"

"On occasion," he says. "I'm usually way too busy working, but every once in a while Draco and I head over to the Burrow to play a big game. Or we play one on one, but that's not as fun. It's mostly the fact that I actually work out once a week, thanks to Draco making fun of the fact that he's still stronger than I am. Funny, since I'm about a million times broader than he is. Not to mention my being an Auror gives me intense exercise. Don't tell him that I do, though. I don't want him to start going to _stay_ stronger."

"Huh," I say, moving up to his right shoulder. "Interesting. Either way, they're awesome. I hardly ever do anything. I think I've been on exactly one jog, and I slept four six hours afterwards. Quidditch is the only thing I can push myself through."

Harry laughs, sending ripples up my arms. I hope he doesn't feel my shiver. "That's brilliant. How's Quidditch going there, anyway?"

"Great, I think. I've never watched a game."

He turns around to stare at me. "Too busy sleeping?"

I duck my head so he doesn't see my eyes. "Yeah, and grading papers."

"What, you're not head of Gryffindor House?"

"No, that job has gone to Filius and Sybill—I mean, Flitwick and Trelawney. Don't ask me how, but she's become a respectable teacher. She's a badass fighter, and whatever happened to make her actually able to read the future right and not say that somebody is going to die every year, everybody is glad it happened."

"Slughorn is Slytherin, isn't he?"

"Right."

I move to his left shoulder, and the instant that I feel the tight spot he mentioned to get us in here, he let's out a soft moan/groan at the pressure.

"Wow," he says. "It hurts more than I thought it did."

"I noticed," I say, chuckling. "Want me to push on it light or hard?"

"Uh...progress to hard?"

"Got it."

I do, and while he had been sitting with his legs stretched out across the bed, he pulls them into a crisscross position and leans forward so that his hands are pulling the top blanket into his fists as he flexes and unflexes his hands.

I guess there'd be no better time for it, then.

"Someone's having fun," I say, leaning forward so that my mouth is by his ear, still swirling my thumbs and knuckles over the giant tight spot. It's not so big anymore, but it's still got some work.

"Someone's having fun watching me have fun," Harry says, turning his face to look at me.

We're so close that our noses brush, and he blinks at me, a bit startled at our closeness. I, on the other hand, blush a deep pink and pull away so he can't see me anymore. This is becoming harder than I thought it would be. Considering that I still love Fred, it just feels like I'm betraying him... If the sodding git weren't the one that told me to come here, I'd feel like shite. But no, it was his idea; therefore I'm just nervous.

"I thought only Ron's face could get that red," Harry says, turning his neck around more to grin at me. He smiles brightly, though, suddenly, and says, "Wow, I couldn't get my neck this far back at first. This is great. Thanks so much, George. Is there anything I can do to repay you for this? Draco wouldn't dare let himself be reduced to messaging another human being."

"Its fine," I say quietly, still a bit flustered from before. I suck at this. "You don't have to do anything. It was fun to just catch up during this."

He turns around so much that his shoulder slips away from my hands, and he blinks slowly at me. "So you're gay, then?" he asks.

I drop my hands and drop my eyes to the ground. "Uh, yeah." What is he suggesting?

He turns around on the bed completely and gets into a kneeling position, and before I can think about it any further, he leans forward and wraps his arms around my neck, planting a soft kiss to my lips.

My courage is back instantly, and I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, walking up to the edge of the bed so our chests and everything else are pressed tightly together. He tastes beautiful, like chocolate and salt. Not the most amazing concoction outside of a mouth, but it's amazing here. His lips are soft like wings, and smooth like silk. His mouth opens mine and his hot breath swims into my mouth and caresses every tooth, every inch of gum, every taste bud of my tongue...all of it.

I sigh happily into his mouth, sliding my tongue through perfect, parted lips. I wish it would just well up and taste every inch of him all at once.

His hands come up to tangle in my hair, and his tongue pushes mine back to enter my own mouth and attack every inch of it.

The next thing I know, I'm lying on his bed underneath him, and he's grinding his groin into mine like his life depends on it. I grind back, moaning into his mouth and reaching up to trail my hands along the planes of his chest.

He removes his hands from my hair and plainly wraps them around my shoulders, shifting so that he's lying on top of me instead of kneeling above me.

He leans back for just a second, letting the both of us get air, and we just stare into each others eyes.

"Your face is red again," he whispers, smiling warmly at me.

I smile back, but before I can answer, there's a loud bang somewhere else in the house. "Haaarrryyyy!" Draco's voice bellows.

Harry leaps off of me, grabbing his shirts. "He's going to make fun of me forever if he sees us," he whispers frantically. "He won't care, but he'll want to know everything, and I do not want to tell him."

I nod in agreement, standing up.

There's a knock on the door. "Harry, are you in there? Did George-o leave?"

"Tomorrow?" Harry whispers, leaning forward and kissing my cheek.

I nod, and before anything else can happen, I apparate away, landing outside of the Hogwarts gate.

I look down at my feet. Damn. I forgot my shoes. This should be a fun walk.

It only occurs to me when I get inside of the castle that I could have used warming charms on my socks instead of getting frostbite.

Once in my room, where Fred is—er, where Fred's portrait is. I'm not very good at distinguishing the two most of the time. Anyway, the instant that the door shuts, Fred yells at me across the room. "You're shoeless! That either means you forgot them after sex or you got kicked out! Tell me _everything_!"

I smile. "Let's just say that I'm going over again tomorrow."

He squeals like any teenage girl would. "No! Tell me everything! Did you kiss? Was anybody else there? What does he eat?"

I tell him every detail, though it takes a while since he has a heart attack when I say anything about Malfoy.

But he's happy for me; I can see it in his eyes. But I can also see the pain from our own memories, all of the times _we_ were happy. I can't glimpse anything in his mind anymore, but I can still see it.

And he's forcing me to ignore it. I don't know if I can keep doing this...

**XxX**

_The next morning, on December 28..._

I knock on the door. Just because Harry and I kissed doesn't mean we're at the stage I can just Apparate into his house yet.

"Waaait fooor iiit!" somebody inside yells.

A few seconds later, it swings open to reveal Malfoy, his hair sticking up in every direction and dressed in a light grey bathrobe. One of his hands has a plate of eggs in it, the other a pan of cinnamon rolls.

"I have perfected the art of opening the door with my foot," he says, leaning down to take a bit of his eggs. "Come on in; Harry's in the shower. Want some eggs for yourself? I managed to make them myself without melting the pan." He turns around and walks away, so I shut the door and follow him.

The kitchen looks like any other Muggle kitchen I've seen (approximately zero), except there's a thin layer of smoke near the ceiling.

"Try not to breathe too deeply," Malfoy says, setting his plates on the four-seat table. "I burnt the first batch of eggs. Don't tell Harry."

"Uh, okay," I say, moving over to the device I know as a fridge. Upon opening it, I shut it immediately. It's filled to the absolute brim with trillions of things I've never seen in my life.

"Sorry about the mess in there," Malfoy says, pulling out two plates and scooping some eggs onto them. "It only makes sense to Harry and me."

"I assumed that. I don't cook, though, so I'll just stick with the eggs here."

"Oh, good, I was afraid you would refuse them since I made them." He sets the plates at two other chairs, and then uses his wand to summon a cinnamon roll each, and three glasses of orange juice. "How's bein' a ginger comin'?"

"Malfoy," I say, looking through drawers for silverware before realizing he's already setting some at the table. "I really am going to punch you in the face," I continue. "Just because Harry and my family adores you does not mean I do. I didn't even know you were out of Azkaban."

He turns to blink at me. "I was never _in_ Azkaban."

I purse my lips. "Oh." Awkward. "Sorry, uh, I just sort of assumed that you—"

"No hard feelings, Weasley. You're not the first to assume incorrectly. But, hey, that's what you get for cutting yourself off from everybody."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm aware," I say as icily as possible, and he notices.

"Sorry," he says, taking another bite of his eggs. "I've said everything going on inside of my head since the war. You'll have to bear with me if you're going to be here often."

"It's my plan to be, yeah."

"Of course, often to the eyes of Harry are Holidays and one weekend a month, since he's always doing Auror business. And you've got students to teach anyway, so it's probably the same for you. Huh, that's convenient. Ooh, take a bite of the eggs already; I want to know if you like them!"

"They're eggs, Malfoy," I say, stabbing a piece of one. "I've never met anybody who could make a bad egg." I push the fork into my mouth, and wow. "Oh," I say with my mouth still full. "Yeah, still haven't met anybody who could make a bad egg. I hate to admit it, but these are actually really good."

"Oh, thank Merlin!" he gushes, folding his hands together up at his chest. "I made them mostly in mind for you, since Harry told me you'd be over all day. He already knows I'm a good cook when I manage to actually cook something. I'm so glad you like them!"

This is so weird. I remember Malfoy being a coldhearted bastard who only talked to make himself look better or to make others look worse. This Malfoy is bright and cheerful and…dare I say it, cute? I see him more like a younger child that doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut than an adult. That kind of cute. Though, I have to admit, he's pretty attractive in his own way. I do like blondes, and I still don't know if he's the same height as me or just a bit shorter since we haven't stood close enough yet. I like it when people are the same height as me—one reason I liked Fred so much.

I'm about to answer him, with what I don't know, when there's another voice:

"DRAAACOOO!" Harry screams from another room.

Malfoy rolls his eyes heavenward with a sigh. "WHAAAT?" he screams back.

"WHERE DID YOU PUT MY BATHROBE?"

"I DON'T KNOW, YOU DID THE LAUNDRY LAST!"

"NO I DIDN'T! IT WAS YOU!"

"WAS NOT!"

"WAS TOO!"

"NUH-UH!"

"UH-HUH!"

Good gods, why did I even come here?

"THEN WHERE THE HELL IS IT?"

Malfoy's hand flies to his mouth. "Oh hell," he whispers. "I _did_ do the laundry last… UH, LOOK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LEFT SIDE OF YOUR CLOSET, BY THE SCARF HANGER."

There's a short silence, and the next thing that happens is Harry walking into the kitchen with wet hair, a Gryffindor red bathrobe, and no glasses.

"Bitch," he says, sitting down beside me where the third plate is set up. "You did do the laundry last, I knew it. You know I hang it on my door; can't you just put it where it belongs?"

"Nah, it makes life more interesting if nothing is ever in its place."

Harry rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his O. J. "Is George here yet?"

Before I can do anything to answer, Malfoy waves his hands to keep quiet. When I don't talk, he does:

"I stripped him naked and tied him to the chair he was sitting in yesterday." He says it all while grinning evilly at me.

Harry spits the liquid all over the table, and I thank Merlin I had my hands in my lap. "You what?" he says, whirling to face Malfoy.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Malfoy says, "Was that a bad idea? Better go save him, then. Good thing you don't have your glasses, though, because his legs are spread wider than you can even get yours."

I force myself to hold in a snort.

"Yes, because you know exactly how far I can spread my legs," Harry mutters, pushing himself out of his chair. He gets about halfway through the door before he stops.

"Oh my gods," he says, turning to face me. "You complete _arse_, Draco Malfoy! You know I can't see anything without my glasses! George, you tosser, why didn't you say anything?"

I smirk at him, but it's mostly for Malfoy's sake since Harry can't even see me. Damn, I'm doing things for Malfoy's sake? Well...I _suppose_ that's alright. He's different now. I've never been one to hold a grudge.

"It was funny," I say, getting up from my chair. "You can't deny it."

"I don't know, George," he says, rubbing the palm of his heel against his left eye. "I've lived with Draco's shenanigans since I was eleven, I think I can deny it just fine."

"Oh, you know you love me," Malfoy says, pulling out his wand. He summons Harry's glasses and, after pulling his hands away from his face, puts them over Harry's eyes.

"Love might be too strong a word," Harry says, looking Malfoy and I over. "Gods, it's good to see. I don't know why I don't just use a spell to fix my eyes."

That was always a question of mine.

"Too many memories," Malfoy says, going back over to his spot at the table. "A Potter without glasses is like a ginger Malfoy."

"Bastard," I mutter, taking a bite of cinnamon roll. Oh, wow, these are amazing too. "I take that back," I say, looking over at him. "You made these too, right?"

Malfoy smiles brightly and nods. Then, turning to Harry, he says, "And I didn't ruin _anything_ while making it."

"Mmm, yes," Harry says, going back to sit beside me. "That explains the smoke."

Malfoy blushes. "Well, I didn't start any fires, anyway."

We eat in silence, savoring Malfoy's cooking ability. Of course, there's the occasional heated glance between Harry and I. Malfoy notices them.

"You guys are _terrible_," he says with a smile, setting down the fork on his empty plate. "You couldn't just _tell_ me?"

"Tell you what?" Harry and I say together around our last bites of food.

"I can't believe I didn't see it," he says, taking our plates and stacking them onto his, all of the silverware on the top plate. "George shows up unexpectedly, and the next thing I know I'm kicked out of the house. Not to mention you forgot your shoes in Harry's room. Oh, Harry, don't give me that look, you know I didn't buy your they're-my-new-shoes story for a second." He uses his wand to float the dishes into the sink. "Movin' fast, kiddos, don'chyuh think? Don't hurt yourselves, now."

Harry groans and I roll my eyes.

"I told you he knows everything," Harry says, looking over at me.

"I didn't say I didn't believe you," I say, downing the last of my orange juice.

"Ooh, I knew it," Malfoy says. He scoots his chair as close to me as he can (he sat next to me instead of Harry, for whatever reason), so he might as well be on my lap. "Tell me everything."

"Everything about wha—" Harry's hand slaps over my mouth to shut me up.

"No," he says. "I don't ask about you and your boyfriends, you can't ask about mine."

Malfoy frowns. "You do too ask me about my boyfriends! Every single time!"

"Yeah, because every single time you practically beg me to."

"I do not!"

"That's bullshit! You come into the house jumping up and down and saying you had such a good time and Merlin Harry you should be so jealous of me and then you say ask me what I did ask me what I did and so I ask you."

Malfoy purses his lips, thinking of how to reply, and finally resorts to sticking his tongue out.

"You guys are acting like six year olds," I say, pushing my chair away from the table. "Like Ron arguing with Percy. You're both twenty-two, right? Act your age, for Merlin's sake."

They _both_ stick their tongues out at me.

**XxX**

"Don't spill, now!" Harry says as Malfoy carries the measuring cup full of flour across the room to the mixing bowl.

"Harry, it's flour," Malfoy says, rolling his eyes. "It's not going to spread across the entire floor like water. Besides, it's not like we don't have wands or anything to just clean up whatever mess I make."

Out of all the times I've watched people make homemade cake (exactly one), this is the most chaotic. They've already spilled at least four things, broken two bowls, and Malfoy caught a wooden stirring stick on fire. I do not even know how all of that is possible in a ten-minute period.

"Yeah, except you spilled the water, too."

"Yeah, well, you cracked the first bowl."

"Only because you deliberately threw an egg at my head so I dropped it!"

"I only did that because you threw a spoon at me."

"Which I did because you broke my favorite teacup."

"Oh, posh, a cup with a Christmas tree on it is not a good favorite teacup."

"Oh, _you're_ talking? Yours has a chain of hearts on it, you big, fat, stupid romantic."

"Better than—"

"Oh sweet Merlin!" I scream, jumping to a standing position. "Twenty-two, not six! _Twenty-two_!"

"You know, George," Harry says, setting the things he's holding down onto the counter. "You're right. I have a better idea than sitting here quarrelling with Draco. Come on, my bedroom is this way."

"I should interrupt your arguments more often," I say with a grin, following him to the door.

"Alright, I just finish the cake by myself, then," Malfoy says with a shrug.

As Harry and I leave the room I see him throw another egg against the wall by the door, barely missing Harry's head. He growls, and then blushes when he realizes that I saw.

"Are you sure he won't come in on us for revenge for ditching him?" I say as Harry closes and locks his bedroom door with spells behind us.

"Oh, he'll try," Harry says. "That's why I'm putting on so many spells." It's true. He is putting on a lot. He's still going.

I sit down on his bed. "Hey, Harry?" I say as he turns around and tosses his wand onto one of the chairs in his room.

"Yeah?" he says, kicking off his shoes.

"I've never…done anything…with anyone…before…"

"You're twenty-four?" He grins. "That's alright; I know what I'm doing. Just do what I tell you to."

The next thing I know I'm wearing nothing but a flowery towel around my waist. The towel is even light blue, decorated with pink flowers with golden centers.

"I have no idea what I'm doing with this," I say, playing with one of the frayed ends with a scrunched up face of confusion. "I was unaware we'd be taking a shower."

"Shower?" Harry says, pulling his shirt over his head. He's pretty much still fully dressed. "Who said anything about a shower?"

"Well…uh…I'm assuming with the towel it was a given…"

"Nah, you just look cute in it."

Cute. I'm twenty-four years old and I'm _cute_. Well, I suppose Malfoy's twenty-two and _he's_ cute…

"I'm unaware as to how a towel around my waist makes me cute, actually."

"I told you to just do what I tell you, George. You're not doing what I'm telling you."

"I am too! You told me to undress and then wrap this stupid, girly towel around my waste so you can't see my cock. How is that cute?"

"I don't know, the fact that you've got a blush all over your entire body is pretty cute." He winks at me, and I look down at my knees. "Ooh, you're getting redder—especially right in the middle of your chest. I'm going to have fun with that."

"Oh, sod off, you thick-headed tosser."

"Now look who's acting six."

"No six year old would act like this if they were naked in front of somebody else."

"You're not naked."

"I don't think a towel counts as being not naked, but"—I look back up at him—"oh, um, you're naked. Hi."

He laughs, and says something, but I can't hear it at all. The heat is pounding into my ears, loud and…well, heated. I already saw his upper body…his shoulders and his back and his chest and his stomach and his arms and his hands. I've seen his knees and below…his calves and his ankles and his feet. But I've never seen the rest of him. You'd think I'd have noticed his strong thighs and his toned arse and…sweet Merlin, help me. For such a short man he's got one of the bigger cocks I've ever seen—and I've actually seen quite a few of those. All of us Weasley boys never did have much privacy, and the guys I shared a dorm with at Hogwarts were a hundred times worse—probably still are. But Harry's is blowing all of ours out of the water.

"It's impolite to stare, George," Harry says, waving his hand in front of his cock to get my attention.

I feel the heat well up in my face and I look back down at my knees. Hey, is that a bruise? I don't remember getting that.

"S'alright." I feel the bed dip down beside me, and my heartbeat jumps back into my ears. "You're not the first to lose yourself." His face buries into the crook of my shoulder, and my heartbeat goes into my throat. I can barely breathe, but it's a good suffocation. (A _good_ suffocation, what does that even mean? That's like saying somebody has a good death. It really can't be done, in all reality. Even when you're laughing before you die…) "Of course, that sounds completely conceited..." His lips press against my throat, his breath washing over my skin. "But I might as well be, since you're not even breathing right now."

Even though the fact that it's true that I'm not breathing, I snort.

"I feel pathetic," I say, turning my face to kiss the first part of him that my lips touch—just his cheek, but still. "I'm two years older than you and I'm acting like a pussy."

"Ew, I hope not," Harry says, scrunching his face up in disgust.

I laugh. "You're funny, Harry."

"I'm also really light," he says, putting his hands up flat against my chest. "Lay down."

I don't even get the chance to. He pushes me down, and then he's straddling my waist, his hands on either side of my head and his lips still in the crook of my shoulder. And he is, in fact, extremely light. And his cock is, in fact, rubbing against my stomach.

"Grip my waist," he whispers, darting his tongue out to trace it along my jugular.

I do.

"Tighter."

I do that too, until my fingernails are digging into his skin.

"Pull me down." He bites lightly at the skin of my throat. It feels so good; I nearly forget to do what he told me.

Still gripping to his waist, I grind his groin into my stomach. I was about to do it lightly, but he'd only tell me to do it harder.

One of the hands beside my head snakes down to tug at the towel, and then it's gone, pulling against my cock because of its pressure of being stuck between our bodies. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. It being my first time doing any of this, I'm going to be…well, done fast, for lack of a better explanation.

"Don't you dare hold anything in, George," Harry says, his lips sliding across my skin to linger over mine. "I want to make this so perfect that we run Draco out of the house."

His lips mash against mine, and I push my tongue past his teeth before he tells me to. He lets out a breath of laughter, so I push him down until our groins are pressing into each other, causing him to gasp out instead. I have to lean up a bit to keep our mouths together, though, because _damn_, he _is_ short.

But then he's pulling his mouth away from mine, backing down me with an evil-like glint in his eyes. And before I can say anything else, he takes the head of my cock into his mouth, and everything in the world but his _mouth_ ceases to exist.

I let out low moans as his tongue swirls around the tip in circles. My breath catches in my throat as he takes me more into his mouth. My eyes roll into my head as he starts to pump. My hands claw mercilessly at the bedcovers as his hands hold me down at the thighs.

I don't know how long it's been since he started—and I don't know anything except _Harry_—but I eventually reach the top.

"H-Ha-Harry!" I moan loudly, and that seems to be enough warning for him, because he continues to pump me down to the last drop.

Harry releases my limpid cock from his mouth, and then crawls up and lies on top of me with the most beautiful smile I've ever seen.

"Come 'ere," I say, once again releasing the blankets from my death grip and taking Harry's face in mine to pull his lips down to mine.

There are still traces of me in his mouth, and I must admit that it's not exactly the drink I would choose for an evening meal. It's pretty bitter, but mixed in with Harry's saliva and the warmth of his mouth, I hardly even notice.

When we stop kissing to come up for air, he just scoots down me more so that our cocks are back together, and his head is on my chest.

"So what brought you here, anyway?" he asks, smiling up at me. "Yesterday, I mean."

I try not to let my face give anything away. "Memories. Remember that time we beat up Malfoy in your fifth year? And all those other times we beat his team to a bloody pulp?"

Harry laughs. "Don't lie to me, George," he says around his laugh. "It's not worth it."

I sigh. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Obviously, since I asked."

"A few years ago, I walked into my professor bedroom at Hogwarts for the first time. On my dresser was a portrait. Can you guess who it was and still is?"

Harry blinks at me. "No way. Fred?"

I nod. "The frame is only the size of my head, but I sleep with him every night. I mean, crushed against my chest, you know?"

Harry frowns. "You loved him, then?"

I press my lips into a thin line and open my arms so Harry can easily get out of then when I say, "I still do."

Harry is out right away, frowning deeply at me. "You're just using me, then?"

"No, it's not like that! HE told me to go find love, and we decided on you."

"That's still using me! You're not supposed to _choose_ who you fall in love with!"

"I didn't choose you, dammit! He chose _for_ me!"

Harry's eyes narrow beyond anything. "So you didn't even care, then? You just showed up here in hopes I wouldn't find out? Good gods, I'm an idiot." He gets off the bed and starts to gather my clothes up, and before I can apologize about anything he throws them at me. "Just get out," he growls. "And don't come back, not even to apologize. We're _over_."

"Funny," I say, using magic to put on all of my things instead of taking the time to actually get dressed. "I don't thing we ever _were_ anything."

And then I'm gone, apparating away.

**XxX**

"Back already?" Fred asks as I storm into the bedroom. "You were barely gone for three hours. I thought you were going to be there all day."

I rip off my shoes and throw them at the wall, causing him to jump.

"Oh," he says. "Malfoy say something?"

"No," I growl. "Malfoy is absolutely peachy to me. Harry and I got into a fight. I'm never, ever going back. Ever."

Fred sighs. "Oh, George, come 'ere."

I pick up his frame and lie down on the bed, cradling him to my chest as I fume.

"He found out about me, then?"

"Yeah," I say.

"And he thought you were just using him, didn't he?"

"Yeah."

He sighs. "Maybe you could shove in with Dean, then? Or, there's still that group of sad people out there..."

I set down his frame to glare at him. "No. I'm done with this, Fred. It's too much work! It hurts too much! I love _you_, Fred, not some tosser I met at a bar, and especially not someone who knew you as well! Can't you just forget about it? If I couldn't make it with Harry, of all people, I can't make it with anyone else." I press my face into my pillow. "Can't you just let me be miserable?" I whisper, looking back at him.

Fred is frowning sadly, his eyes brimming with tears. "For now," he says, sniffing. "But I won't let you die alone. Promise me you won't?"

I pull his frame back to me, cradling it to my chest. "I won't be," I say, rubbing my thumb down the leaf imprints on the bronze frame. Have I ever noticed those imprints? I can't remember. "I'll have you."


	3. Tres

**Chapter Three**

_January 7, a Saturday…_

I knock loudly on the door to Harry's house, intent on apologizing to him. Fred says that it's been long enough that I should go back. I tried messaging him in the Floo, but nobody answered, so I just showed up at the door.

"Just a minuuuute!" somebody yells inside. I can't tell who it is through the door, even yet.

A moment later, it's opened to reveal Malfoy. He's wearing a baggy, satin, button-up dress shirt the color royal purple, and black slacks just a bit longer than ideal. His hair is slicked back like he used to do it in first and second year, and he's wearing shy black wing-tips. And he is the same height as me!—or at least his eyes are at the same level.

"Uh, am I interrupting something?" I ask, looking back up at his steel eyes. "Going to an interview, perhaps?"

"Oh, hey," he says, looking over my more casual jeans/scarf/t-shirt look. "And no, I just got back from one."

"Oh, uh, did you get it?"

"Not sure," he says, examining his perfect nails.

"Why'd you need one? Aren't you, like, beyond rich?"

"Yeah, but that's not going to last forever. Besides, I have nothing better to do but get a job. Harry's been gone for two days, and he won't be back in a few more days. I'm trying to find something that I don't always have to be at; like a job I'll share with somebody. I don't know, I just don't like sitting around alone."

"Ah…" I rock awkwardly back on my heels. "He's not here then?"

Draco's face scrunches up in an annoyed look. "Right, you're here for Harry. What is this company you speak of?"

Awkward. "Well, no, I just—"

He flits his wrist to wave me off. "No, I don't care, being alone is great. I'll tell him you came by."

He starts to shut the door, but I just can't help it when I stop it with my foot. I've seen too much sorrow to be okay with it seeing it in other people, even Malfoy.

"Need any help with lunch?" I ask, pushing the door open all the way.

He cocks an eyebrow. "You want to come in? And hang out with just me? Did you blow a brain cell?"

"Nope," I say, letting myself in. "I just like your hair." As I walk passed him, I push my fingers down the slick.

"Right, I forgot to fix that," he says, messing it up completely with his hands. "And are you sure?"

I hang up my coat and scarf to make it obvious that I'm very sure, even though I'm not. What am I doing here, anyway? Harry's going kill me.

"You're sure Harry won't be back today?" I ask as Malfoy walks passed me to lead me to the kitchen.

"Are you here to apologize?" he asks, turning around for a second to give me a look.

"Well, yeah, but he was supposed to answer the door. I wasn't supposed to come in to have lunch with you."

"Mmm, right. I haven't started yet. I'm used to not eating lunch until two because Harry and I take a few hours to one, decide what we're eating and two, actually cook whatever extravagant meal we come up with. What would you like?"

I shrug. "I don't know."

He stops in front of the fridge without opening it to blink at me. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't care."

He scrunches his face up, incredulous. "How don't you_ care_ what you eat?"

"Whoa," I say, holding my palms up. "Didn't mean to offend. It's just the fact that I've survived on food provided by the school and the guys I share a place with during the summer."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Three guys in the summer? Bit kinky, don't you think?"

"Dear gods," I groan. "I'm talking about the three guys I sold the joke shop to. Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and Lee Jordan? You know them, right?"

Malfoy snorts. "Oh, so not what I was thinking. Yeah, Gryffindor's I never talked to, but I knew 'em. What do you want to eat?"

"Malfoy, honestly," I say, leaning against the table. "I don't know, I don't care. Choose something yourself."

He grumbles unintelligibly to himself as he opens the fridge and starts digging through it.

"I don't understand how my not knowing what to eat offends you so…" I say quietly.

He looks back up at me through half-lidded eyes. "I'm an adamant food lover, George. I applied for a part-time bakery job, I've worked as a cook, and Harry is just as adamant about it all. People who don't care what they eat appall me. Besides, I'm used to debating—well, arguing—with Harry about what we're going to eat. That's practically the majority of the time, our arguing over what to eat and how to cook it and if we should make enough for leftovers…" He sticks his head back into the fridge. "Do you like prawns?"

"Yeah, sounds fine," I say, trying to put everything he's said into my head. I'm still just trying to figure out what I'm still doing here, or why I came here at all. Harry's not the forgiving type, as far as I can remember.

"Aaaand…how about steak? Fillet minion?"

"Uh, fillet minion?"

There's a crash inside of the fridge, and he comes back up rubbing the back of his head. "Ow, fuck," he says, squeezing his eyes shut. But he pushes his pain away to stare at me with giant eyes. "You've never had fillet minion?" he asks, still appalled at me.

"I don't know, I don't keep track of what steaks I have. I was poor until I was eighteen, and then Fred"—my voice cracks—"and I survived on chicken and pizza. And after that I ate whatever anybody else had. Sorry."

He shakes his head in disappointment. "Fillet minion it is, then." He goes back into the fridge. "Onion soup?"

"Sure."

"Alaskan pound cake?"

"Uh…yeah, sounds good."

He comes back up with half-lidded eyes, an onion in his hands. "You've never had that, either?"

"I'm not a big fan of cake…"

He laughs, tilting his head back up at the ceiling. "You have not lived yet, my friend. Get over here to cut this onion up."

I stand, pulling my wand out, but he's by me in a second, his hand on mine to stop me. "Don't even think about it," he says. "Magic taints food. It always has. You do this by hand or you leave."

"Okay," I say, putting my wand back into my pocket. I'm used to doing things by hand. I helped my mum all the time, and since I wasn't old enough to use magic, I just did it all without it.

He blinks at me, dropping his hand from mine. He looks confused, but I just go passed him to look for a knife.

"Here," he says.

I turn around, nearly impaling myself on a knife.

"Oh, Merlin, sorry," he says, yanking the sharp object away from me. "Maybe lunch is a bad idea," he says, handing me the knife slowly. "I blow enough things up with Harry."

"No, we can do it," I say, turning around to cut the onions up. "I don't know you well enough to put up any sort of fight about stuff."

"Mmm, yes. I hope you like full meals."

I actually grin. "I'm just glad I didn't eat before I came."

**XxX**

Two hours later, Malfoy's only blown the stove up once (to which we did use magic to fix), broken two bowls, and dropped the steak on the floor once.

"All in all, I think you did a fine job," I say, looking out at the table. It's set up with prawns, the expensive steak, onion soup, a fresh salad, and the Alaskan pound cake is on the counter. "Harry won't have a clue that you did blow anything up." I start on the onion soup, because he said that he would kill me if I didn't eat everything in order. Apparently, salad comes after soup. I don't now.

"He'll yell at me anyway," Malfoy says, his soup in front of him as well. "He just assumes I've blown up the house whenever he's gone for more than five minutes."

"Makes sense," I say, leaning away before he hits me.

When he does, I just laugh. Merlin, laughing with Malfoy. What an odd happenstance.

"You're horrible," he grumbles.

"I'm aware."

We finish the meal slowly, talking about nothing in particular. Actually, Malfoy does pretty much all of the talking, and I learn more things about Harry than I thought I would ever learn. I will never look at him in the same way again, nor will I look at Malfoy the same way since he's the one who knew it first. Honestly, what kinds of friends tell each other about a freckle shaped like a ladybug on their penis?

But, to my surprise, the cake as actually quite wonderful.

"And to think I helped make that," I say, sitting down in the chair that I sat in the first time that I was over at Harry's house. "I think I liked the prawns best."

"Really?" he says, sitting down in the chair closest beside me. "I liked the fillet minion."

"Obviously."

He pulls his legs up underneath him. "So, how's Hogwarts doing?"

I purse my lips. "Good."

He blinks at me. "Good?"

I look away and then back at him. "Well, yeah. What else?"

"No complaints about students or professors? No complaints about the hours? No praises to the classes? Just 'good'?"

"Well…yeah."

He sighs. "I've been talking the entire time. I feel bad. Harry and I compete for the spotlight. You just give it away. I'm not sure what to do with it."

My watch beeps. "Well, for starters, you could kick me out," I say, jumping to a standing position. "That's my cue to get back and grade papers."

He frowns, standing up beside me. "Do you have to?" I blink at him, and he ducks his eyes. "So sue me for enjoying your company."

I laugh. "Sorry, Malfoy. I really do have to go."

"I'll walk you to the door."

He does, holding my scarf for me as I shrug on my coat. When I reach my arms out to take the scarf from him, he wraps it around my neck on his own, his tongue just barely sticking out as he concentrates.

"There," he says, smiling. "Perfect."

"Nearly," I say, reaching up to twist part of it around. "The tag was showing."

He frowns. "Damn."

I open the door, and he sighs. "I'll see you around, then."

"Yeah, whenever I come back next to apologize to Harry."

He presses his lips into a hard line. "I'd try two weeks from now. He should be back."

I smile. "Thanks. Have fun alone." I step out of the door. "Hope you get your job."

I apparate away as we wave goodbye to each other.

**XxX**

"Weird," Fred says as soon as I'm done explaining by day. "I never thought I'd hear of Malfoy being civilized—or that Harry had that…that freckle…" He shudders. "What are you going to do about it?"

"About Malfoy?"

"Uh, no. About Harry."

"Oh, right. Go back in two weeks like Malfoy suggested. What else?"

Fred nods. "Right. I suppose we'll just…hang out here, then."

I sit down on my bed. "And the waiting begins.

**OoOoOoO**

_January 21, a Saturday…_

_Knock, knock, knock._

The door opens instantly, even before I can take a breath, to reveal Malfoy. Today he's wearing faded blue jeans with a chain hooked onto two of his belt loops, tears in his knees, and frays at the bottom. He's shirtless, and _wow_, I can't remember the last time I've seen someone so built, even compared to Harry's brawny shoulders. His hair is spiked up again, and he has a silver ring in his left ear. And his...his arm. His left arm. I completely forgot about it. His Dark Mark is still as black as it always was, standing out against his skin like a beacon in a cloudless, starless, moonless sky. Not to mention there's a bottle of firewhiskey in that hand that's nearly empty...

"Oh!" he says right before hiccupping, his hand flying to his mouth. "You weren't supposed to"—hiccup—"to come!"

He's drunk, then? Lovely. And the hiccupping makes it _all_ the better.

"Harry got called away on emerg"—hiccup—"ency Auror business! He'll"—hiccup"—be back tomorrow! I'm really"—hiccup—"really sorry!"

Without another word, I pull out my wand and cast a sobering charm on him. "So he's not here?" I ask.

"Merlin, George, I am so sorry," Draco says, using his wand to banish the bottle. "I just—when Harry—he and I—fuck. I usually don't let myself get that way. No, he's not here. I'm sorry about that too."

I start to say that its okay and that I can just get back to my room in five minutes, but he bursts into excited giggles.

"I know!" he says happily. "I'll make it up to you! Don't move!"

"Wait, Malfoy, I—"

The door slams behind him.

"—will wait right here," I finish, sighing. I suppose I can spend the day with him again... I might as well. Fred might be a bit irked that I missed Harry again, but at least I'll get to know the man better thanks to Malfoy constantly talking about him. Of course, I'm also learning a lot about Malfoy, which is weird, to say the least. Apparently his favorite color is peach, and even though he's an extravagant cook his favorite thing to eat is the simple vanilla pudding. Harry, on the other hand, likes burnt orange and chocolate mouse with blueberry filling, which honestly makes me feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it. They're both big on deserts, obviously.

So whatever he wants to do to make it up to me, I'll do it. I've finished grading everything, and all of my lessons are together. So I might as well, at least to learn.

The door swings open a moment later to reveal Malfoy again, redressed in the same kind of slacks and shoes as yesterday, a shirt the same but the color light grey, and a silvery blue scarf.

"How do you feel about eating dinner in Vegas, at the Stratosphere?" he asks, eyes shining.

Well, _this_ I wasn't ready for. "Uh..." I say, looking down at my same jeans/scarf/t-shirt look as yesterday.

"Oh, I can fix that," Malfoy says as he puts on his incredibly expensive looking pea coat. He pulls out his wand, closes his eyes, and says a spell I've never heard before.

A moment later, there's a sharp wind over my entire body. When it calms, I look down at myself and practically fall over backwards.

I'm dressed nearly the same as him, except my shoes, coat, and scarf are the same. My shirt is a deep, Ravenclaw blue, with white buttons. My scarf happens to be grey, so of course we're matching oppositely—if that makes sense.

"Do you like my shoes or...?" I ask, looking back up at him.

"Oops," he says, looking down at my super old tennis shoes. "Missed those. And while I'm at it..."

There's another sharp wind, and a moment later I'm wearing the same kinds of shoes, and my thin coat as been turned into the same coat as his, but dark blue.

"Wow. I should do this some time," I say, conjuring up a floating full-length mirror to look at myself.

"Oh, it doesn't work that way," Malfoy says. "You can only do it if you own the stuff. These are all my own clothes." He fingers the hem of the shirt I'm in. "Thankfully we're the same size. Anyway, about an afternoon in America. Are you afraid of heights?"

Before I get anything out he talks again: "No, of course you're not, that would be weird given your history of flying. I know a wizard who works in the Mirage casino who will give me Muggle money in exchange for Galleons. Have you ever been to Vegas before?"

"I've never been out of London."

He gasps. "You have not lived, my ginger friend. Come, come, I called in reservations while I dressed."

He links his arm tightly in mine, and then there's the tight, swoopy sensation of apparating away.

We appear in the middle of a group of slot machines, and not a single one of the players even looks up at us.

Except one. A woman dressed in obvious employee attire, bright red lipstick, black stiletto heels, and breasts the size of my head. Her nametag reads BABY.

"Still not at Hooters, baby?" Draco says, sliding up beside her as he uses her name in an affectionate way instead of her actual name.

"Heeyyy, Draayyy," she says, smacking her lips at him. Welcome to America, George. "Back for another round?"

"No way. You know I gave up gambling." Oh. I thought they meant...well, anyway, Malfoy's gay. "I'm here with a friend. We're eating up top."

She looks over at me. "Ginger, naturally. Figured it out yet?"

Malfoy laughs. "No, he's after 'Ry."

I frown. "Wait, what?"

They smile at me, Draco's apologetic and Baby's mysterious.

"Two-hundred, then?" she asks, looking back at him.

Draco nods as I snort.

"Malfoy, how expensive is this going to be? If I knew you were going to—"

"Oh, posh," he says, flitting his hand at me. "I owe you."

"Not this much! I could have been back to my place and asleep in ten minutes!"

He and Baby look at me, the transaction completed. "You'd rather be sleeping, then?" Malfoy asks quietly.

I sigh. "No. No, I wouldn't. I just feel bad about letting you spend all this money on me."

"Get used to it, sweetie," Baby says, smacking her lips at me. "Drakie's in love with heights."

**XxX**

"Oh sweet Merlin," I say, taking my first bite of the steak that Draco ordered me (after pudding, he likes steak best, obviously). It's the most amazing thing I have ever tasted in my life.

"Told you," Malfoy says as he takes a sip of the most expensive wine I've ever drank. Not to mention the fifty-six American dollar hunt of meat on my plate.

"Yeah, I just wish you hadn't," I say, cutting another piece off. "I wonder why Hogwarts never has steaks."

"It's more over here, I think. We're more of a chicken kind of country. Hey, look!" He points out of the window beside us, which has been making me kind of woozy this entire time. Contrary to his assumed though, I happen to dislike heights for a number of reasons. "We've finally spun around to the Strip. And you can see Caesar's Palace from here, too. The statues of Greek gods in there come alive sometimes. Little do most know that it's with the help of our _Piertotum Locomotor_ spell. It's quite a show, though. How's your Chteau Marqaux?"

"Expensive," I say, taking another sip from the twirly glass. "Are you sure I can't pay you back?"

"Depends."

"How so?"

"In Galleons, no. Company, on the other hand, I'm deeply deprived of."

I cock an eyebrow. "Just hanging out? Really?"

He nods.

"Huh... Did you get that job?"

He snorts. "I decided against it. I did put up something to help decorate things, and I've already helped host two Muggle parties. It's a good thing I've got Baby to help me out with all of this wizard/London/American money stuff, or I'd be in trouble."

"Alright, I'll pay you back with my company, then. How do you feel about parks?"

He smiles. "Do you like climbing trees?"

"Uh... I don't think I ever have."

He gasps. "So, so deprived. I'm pretty sure we're thinking of the same park, and it has the best climbing tree."

"The one that's eight stories high?"

He nods.

"Sounds great."

"Hurry up, then. Three's one more thing I have to do here."

**XxX**

With another apparation in the middle of the casino, Malfoy and I are somewhere outside—and high, because I can see for miles around us.

"Where are we?" I ask, looking at the bright lights around us, resisting the urge to sit down like a wimp.

"On top."

"Of?"

"The Stratosphere, of course!"

"You mean...we're on the roof?" I practically slam my arse down onto the...ground? Floor? Roof? Whatever's beneath my feet.

"Yeah!" He starts spinning in circles getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Hey, Malfoy, don't fall off!" I yell.

"Huh?" he calls.

I'm not stupid. I know how this stuff happens. Without another word I use a spell that will freeze him where he is, his arms spread out and one leg bent up.

He frowns, happening to face me, as he freezes inches from the edge. "You're no fun," he says.

"No, I'm not stupid. Do you realize that you were about to fall to your death?"

"Fall, yes. Death, no."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Let me go and I'll show you."

"But you'll—"

"George." His eyes bore into mine, their steel grey heated to a molten intensity. "Trust me."

I stare at him. No one's ever asked me to trust them before. The only people I had to trust were people I automatically trusted.

Taking a deep breath, I let him go.

And he rewards me by doing a back flip into the open sky.

"No!" I scream, jumping up and sprinting to the edge, dropping there on my hands and knees. "Draco!"

There's a giggle behind me, and I turn around to see the prat sitting behind me.

"You called me by my first name," he says, still giggling.

"Fuck you!" I say, jumping back up to glare down at him. "That's the last time I'll _ever_ trust you!"

"Don't fall, George," he says simply.

I drop back down like a rock, crawling over to him (because rocks totally crawl). "You did that on purpose, you fucking prick."

"I told you I wouldn't die!"

"But you didn't tell me _how_."

"I was getting there!"

"Yeah, but—oh, never mind. Please don't do anything else stupid without explaining it to me, okay?"

"No, _you_..." He trails off, blinking at me. "What?"

"I said please don't—"

"No, I mean, that's it? Just a please? No yelling at me?"

"Why would there be? That won't get us anywhere."

He tilts his head in a confused manner. "No arguing?"

"No..."

"But I just jumped off a roof!"

"Yeah, and if you do it again, I'll leave."

He frowns. "Leave? But that...that's so simple."

"Well...yeah...problem elimination..."

Malfoy purses his lips and looks away from me, out at the dark sky. It's a completely different time zone, here. Back home it's still the middle of the day.

I swear ten minutes pass, just sitting there in silence with the ex-Death Eater. I can't see the Strip from here, but Malfoy's nails are glistening with polish in the light reflecting off the clouds—considering where we are, that's why too bright.

"It's weird," he eventually says. "You don't...you're so quiet. I can't remember the last time I had more than a minute of silence. I talk to myself, and Harry even says that I talk in my sleep."

"Hmm," I say. "I don't talk unless I have to."

"Or argue. And you only raise your voice when you're scared."

"Considering that you threw yourself off a skyscraper, I think I'm justified in being frightened."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you're scared of heights."

"Well, you know now—yet you still aren't bringing me down..."

He gives me a half-lidded glare.

I sigh. "I didn't want to be a wimp. But speaking of not telling people things...you have yet to tell me how exactly you did all of that leaping off the roof and appearing behind me business."

"Disillusionment Charms and image throwing. The latter very illegal, but because the Ministry has no way of knowing when it's used, I like to show off."

My jaw drops. "So you... When you jumped off, that wasn't even you?"

He grins broadly and nods.

"But how did you—I mean, how did the real you cast a glimmer so fast?"

He smirks. "That's for me to know and you to wish you knew. Do you still want to go to the park?"

I sigh and lie back on my back, my hands bent up underneath my head. "I don't care."

He leans back on his left elbow to look at me. "You really don't care?"

"Uh, no, I don't."

"Ugh, George, I'm not used to anyone like you. Even the members of your family, including Percy and Mellissa, like to get into a tizzy on occasion." Tizzy...?" "Molly doesn't, but she at least still has opinions and rules on things. You're just...a ginger presence."

"Is there a reason you are constantly making known the color of my hair?"

He giggles. "No."

"You do that a lot."

"Do what?"

"Giggle like a fifth year that's found a really attractive guy."

He presses his lips into a line. "At least people _know_ my sexual orientation."

"No, wait, I didn't mean it as a bad thing. It's cute." I look away from the sky, wondering why I actually just admitted that.

"Really?"

"I don't say what I don't mean."

"Thank goodness. Harry and I try to get away with it all the time, but we know each other too well for it to work."

I cock an eyebrow. Has he lied to me at all, then? Before I can speak, though, he continues:

"Hey, I have a way better way for you to repay me than climbing trees. Are you any good at massages?"

I snort, and when he just continues to stare questioningly at me, I say, "Uh, yeah, really good. At least, that's what Harry says." His face scrunches sup a bit, and I quickly add, "That's what he said back in your guys' fifth year. He sort of felt like shite, and I walked in on him and helped him get rid of all that tension that builds up in his left shoulder, you know?"

Malfoy looks at me, trying to mask a sad frown with a sad smile. "Yeah, I know exactly what you're talking about. I'm the worst at massages, so I'm glad somebody can work it out of him."

"You're saying you want one to, then?"

He blushes slightly, but I don't think he knows it. "I mean, if it's not too weird for you..."

I snort again. "I mean, no, sorry, it'd be fine. Back at your place?"

"Yeah, on the—I mean, what would be the easiest for you? My lower back has been giving me the worst kind of trouble lately, so...wherever that would be easiest to reach."

"I don't know. Somewhere where you can lie down."

He chews lightly on his bottom lip. "That would be my bed. We don't have a couch. Just cushioned chairs that...well, yeah."

"Sure, sounds good."

He takes my hand and apparates us straight into his bedroom. His room is a lot like Harry's, the same size and whatnot, but instead filled to the brim with violet and blue instead of what I assumed would be green and silver. He magic's his shirt off, and then starts to shrug on an old t-shirt.

"Just leave it off," I say, shrugging off my jacket and scarf. "It will be easier for me to see what I'm doing if you're topless." When he takes it back off, the black of his arm seems to scream LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME.

"It's rude to stare, George," Malfoy says quietly.

"Sorry," I say, ducking my head. "I just...I've never really seen one before. Not this close."

"Well you can stare, if you'd like to."

I look back up, and he holds his left arm out to me.

I take it gently in my hands, kind of scared to touch it. It feels weird tracing it, like an abnormal skin defect/birth mark thing. I've felt tattoos before, but they've felt nothing like this. While the rest of his skin is warm, the Mark is like touching ice, and it seems to get even colder the longer I hold my hand to it.

"Did it hurt?" I ask quietly.

"More than anything," Malfoy replies even quieter.

"Does it still?"

"Sometimes, when I'm somewhere that's really hot. It likes the cold."

That awkward moment when you're discussing a tattoo like it's a human being.

"Does it still...work? Whatever word you use."

"No, it stopped as soon as Harry killed Voldemort." I cringe. I still don't like hearing his name. "I tried using it, once, so I could speak to my father. Nothing happened."

"Maybe because he can't get out of Azkaban?"

He purses his lips. "I don't want to find out." He pulls his arm lightly away from me, crossing both of them to tuck the Mark out of sight. "How are we doing this?"

"I'll do your arms first, so just sit down on the edge, facing the inside. That way I can face the outside."

"Wait, I thought you were just doing my back…"

"No, I owe you way more than just your back. Sit."

He does, and I sit down beside him in the way I described.

"I thought _Harry_ was strong looking," I say, starting on his right arm. He's extremely muscular for such a skinny guy.

Malfoy snorts. "He wishes. He's brawnier than I am, but I have nothing better to do than work out a lot of the time." I force myself not to laugh. Harry thinks he's the only one. That's funny. "His Auror job just consists of a lot of chasing and spells. So he's a good long distance runner and sprinter, but I've got him on everything else. He—oh _wow_."

His entire body goes semi-limp as I get to his shoulder, and I laugh. "Funny," I say, smiling at his hanging blonde head, "I didn't notice this spot. You have a really tight spot on the underside of your left knee, but I thought that was it."

He looks up at me, his steel grey eyes dark and glazed. Is he…by his shoulder? Really? "You noticed that?"

I nod.

"How?"

"Because I'm cool. Next arm." I get up and sit on his other side, and then start at his hand.

"Wow." He waves the arm I just finished up on. "It feels so much lighter. This is great. What's your favorite color?"

I blink at him, my hands continuing to work. "Chrysochlorous."

He wrinkles his nose up. "Chrysanthemum is a color?"

"No, I said _chrysochlorous_. It's a greenish-gold color."

"Sounds kind of like those Martini olives."

"Well…no…but I suppose you can picture them however you like."

He sighs as I get to his other shoulder. "Harry would make up a game that would help me learn to spell it in five minutes."

"Are you saying you want to learn how to spell it…?"

He laughs. "No. No, I don't. Harry just has to make sure I know everything right, you know." He sighs again. "I'm never wrong anymore."

"I beg to differ."

He turns to me with a playful glare, but I ignore it. "Lie down," I say. "I'm going to get that kink out of your knee. It's a good thing slacks roll up easily."

At my words, he rolls up his left pant leg until its a couple inches higher than his knee, and then he rolls onto his stomach, his arms up to cradle his head.

"This is going to hurt at first," I say, sitting beside him in a crisscrossed position. "It's really sore. You're working it too hard." I press my thumbs down, and he sucks in a breath. "Exactly. Do you do any dancing? I mean, like, hip-hop?"

"Uh…not exactly."

"Define not exactly."

"I do a lot of gymnastic sort of things."

"Ah, swinging from monkey bars on your knees, then? That can do it. Just rest it for—"

"Oh, ow, that hurt."

"Yeah, hold your breath, this is the last one."

He fills his lungs, and after a hard push he lets it out with a happy sigh. "Brilliant," he breathes. "That feels…well, good, now."

"Good," I say, smiling. "That was the plan. Anyway, just don't do much that involves your knees for the rest of the week. I don't know, I'm not a certified chiropractor. Either way, sit around for a while. You can adopt a kitten and just play with it by letting it crawl all over you."

He laughs. "I'm allergic to cats."

"Oh, don't do that, then. Can you knit?"

"I've never tried."

"There we go, then! Take up knitting. Just don't tell Harry that it was my idea."

"Yeah, that would probably go wrong."

"Does he know that I've…stopped by a couple times?"

"No, I've kept my mouth shut about it. He'd hurt me if he knew that I just let you walk around his house like you owned the place."

"Probably a good id—"

My watch beeps.

"Damn," I say, looking at the time. "He's going to kill me."

"What is it?" Malfoy asks, rolling onto his side to look at me. "Late for a meeting?"

"Worse," I say, wrapping my scarf around my neck. "Hey, can I have my clothes back?"

He pulls his wand out of my pocket and waves a silent spell at me, and after the sharp rush of wind I'm back in my regular clothes, including having my coat back on.

"I'm really sorry I couldn't finish," I say as he sits up completely. "I can come back some other time."

"No, its fine," he says, smiling warmly at me, though I can tell that he's disappointed that I have to leave. It's just…Fred is going to hate me. I've been gone for nearly eight hours, and when I get back he's going to expect all of the details about what argument Harry and I had for me to be able to get back on his good side and into his bed.

"No it's not," I say. "I'll be back eventually. Next week is a busy school week, so probably not before then." I mess his hair up with one hand like I would with anyone I saw as a child. "See you around."

Malfoy pushes his hand through his hair, giving me a shy look, like he's embarrassed that I just played with his hair. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I'll try not to wait up."

**XxX**

"What do you _mean_ Harry wasn't there and you spent the entire day with Malfoy _again_?" Fred asks loudly as I change my clothes. They smell a lot like Malfoy, and I hate to admit it, but he smells beyond amazing.

I sigh. "He felt bad, he took me out to eat in Vegas, I hate America, and I got rid of a couple of kinks in his shoulder and knee area."

Fred's jaw drops. "You gave him a massage? That's reserved for Harry so he'll like you more!"

I roll my eyes. "Malfoy isn't telling Harry that I've been over at all. He'll never know."

"That's not the point! The point is, Malfoy is ruining your chances with Harry, and I don't like it."

"You don't like a lot of things. But as weird as it is to admit, he's actually a really nice guy now. He's grown out of most of his completely immature prick-ish-ness, and now he's a mature prick. It's a nice change from the formalities of the school, you know?"

Fred snorts. "Malfoy, a nice guy. A _mature_ prick. How absurd."

"If I weren't keeping you a secret from everybody I would have you meet him."

"I don't want to meet him."

"Sucks, 'cause you're in a portrait, so you have to do whatever I want you to do."

He crosses his arms and sighs. "Whatever. Are you even still trying to get Harry?"

"Of course. He just happens to evade all of my visits."

"Valentine's Day is a Tuesday this year," he says, changing the subject slightly. "You have it off, right?"

I nod. "I have it off every year." McGonagall gives us teacher's designated not-important-enough-to-cancel-school-over holidays off, and she gave me Valentine's Day because I'm the youngest and I have the most to live for. At least, that's what I've put together. Even _she's_ trying to get me into a relationship.

"You'll go over again, then, alright?"

I sigh. "I don't _want_ to! It's so much work!"

His eyes narrow. "Do it anyway! And while you're at it, bring a present. It's Valentine's Day, after all. It will be romantic!"

I just groan.

**OoOoOoO**

_February 14, a Tuesday…_

The present underneath my arm, an apologetic smile on my face, I knock loudly on the door.

_Rat-a-tat-tat._

"Coooomiiiing!" somebody inside yells. It's amazing how it's still impossible for me to tell whose yelling—Harry or Malfoy—through the door after I knock. Their voices are beyond different.

A moment later it's pulled open, and standing in the doorway is Malfoy, dressed in silver jeans tighter than hell across his legs and arse, a shimmering gold tank top adorned in every which direction with sparkly gold sequins, a short and thin silver scarf around his neck, a black colored sort of cuff-like bracelet on his wrist with "_don't knock it till you try it_" stitched tiny in silver around it, and black eyeliner thick around his eyes. His hair is spiked up in a lot of places, there's a black feather tucked behind his ear, and a matching black feather attached to a short, thin chain that's attached to an earring hook in his right ear.

"_What_," I say, staring across at him, "are you _wearing_?"

He scrunches his nose up in confusion, and then looks down at himself.

"Uh, pants?" he says, looking back up at me.

Oh my gods, I didn't see his feet. He doesn't have any shoes or socks on, but his toenails are painted royal purple.

"And your toes," I say, looking back up at him. "And your shirt, and your scarf, and your cuff, and your hair, and your eyes. Sweet Merlin, Malfoy, you look like a girl."

He shrugs. "Better than a guy, since most guys like girls anyway."

"Except for the fact that the guys you're trying to get like _guys_ anyway..."

He just shrugs again. "What's that you got there? Valentine's Day present? Today's the fourteenth, right?"

I nod. "It's for Harry."

"Ah," he fiddles with his earring. "Another attempt to catch him to apologize, then?

I purse my lips. "That's the plan," I say looking down at the bow on top of the wrapped box.

"Right, good luck with that. Come on in, though, I'll make you some tea."

I hesitate for a moment, but since he's already walking away I sigh and follow him in, closing the door quietly behind me. It's not that it's awkward anymore, it's that he seems…different today. Just kind of pissed off at the world and everything in it. I don't want to make it worse.

"Just hang out in the living room," Malfoy says, going past the door that leads into said room. "I'll bring it to you."

"Yeah, alright," I say, heading into the room. I sit in the chair I always sit in, pulling off my light jacket and my hat, folding them and setting them at the floor by my feet. The room doesn't look much too different, except for the fact that all of the green decorations have been replaced with pink and white. The tree is even still up, just with different colored balls and tinsel and whatnot.

Malfoy comes back into the room a few minutes later, two cups in his hands. He sits down in the chair closest to me and hands me one of the cups, and I can tell that it's the tea with the cheery flavor in it. I put it to my lips and have half of it down before somebody's pushing lightly at my arm to stop me.

I pull it away from my face to see that it's Malfoy (because who else would it be?), looking at me with one of the most concerned faces I've ever been given aside from all of the ones I got at Fred's funeral.

"What?" I say, dropping the cup all the way down to my lap. "I'm thirsty, and this stuff is really good. You and Harry made it, didn't you?"

"Yes," he says, nodding, "but that's not what I'm talking—well, I'm not talking. Your drinking the tea so quickly is not what's bothering me."

I sigh. "What's bothering you, then, Malfoy? You seem…upset."

He presses his lips into a soft line. "Will you do me a favor, first?"

"Depends what the favor is."

"Stop calling me Malfoy. I hate my last name, always have. And you know me now, don't you? We're friends. And I call you George and you don't mind at all. Won't you call me by _my_ first name?"

His eyes are big and innocent looking (though he's far from innocent), and his teeth are playing absentmindedly with the inside of his bottom lip. I couldn't refuse his face if I wanted to.

"Alright, Draco," I say, bringing the cup back to my lips. "Don't hurt yourself, now, all you had to do was ask. Don't hurt me if I accidentally call you Malfoy, though. Old habits die hard."

"Mine don't."

"Mmm, yeah." I finish my tea in another gulp. "Would you tell me what's bothering you, now?"

He shakes his head no.

I blink at him. "No?"

"It doesn't really matter anymore, you probably wouldn't tell me. Do you want to try and help me make some white chocolate brownies for Harry when he gets back?"

When he gets _back_? I missed him _again_? I swear, they're planning this out. But they didn't know I would be back today…they couldn't have. My timing really does just downright suck.

"Harry's not here?" I say, all thoughts about Malfoy's—er, Draco's concerns and the brownies gone. "Where is he?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Mal—Draco says. "There's a big Auror get-together at the Ministry. He won't be back for another two or three days."

"Oh. Why am I still here then?" I have so much to do, and if I'm not going to spend the day how I planned, I should really get back to grading papers.

Ma—good gods, this is hard. Draco averts his eyes before turning his face completely away from me, and his glass is shaking a bit.

"I don't know," he says quietly. "Maybe you should go."

Oh, hell, what did I say?

"Draco?" I say quietly, slowly reaching out my hand and lightly setting it on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he says, jumping to a standing position so my hand slides off and away from him. "Yeah, I'm great. What are you still doing here?" He turns around and grabs my empty teacup. "Get out of here while you still can. I'll give Harry the present when he gets back. Unless it's something you need to explain, then you better just keep it."

"Draco, I—"

"Oh, just _leave_, George!" he growls, walking out of the room. "I can make my brownies by my_self_!"

I sigh and get to a standing position, leaving my things on the ground. I walk out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen, and to my half-surprise, Draco is leaning against the edge of the counter, in front of the sink, with his head hanging low.

I go across the room to him, stepping beside him and putting my hands on his shoulders. "Draco, you asked me a favor, and I want to at least have the chance to use it. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he whispers. "I told you, I'm _fine_."

I sigh, dropping my hands so they're on the shoulder and arm closest to my instead of both his shoulders. "Do you love him?"

He laughs. A short, scary, pushed out laugh. "That depends," he says, taking his free arm and wiping his arm across his face.

"Depends on what?" I say, resisting the urge to twist my fingers through his hair. I don't want to mess it up; it looks good, as girly as it is.

"It depends on your definition of the word 'him'."

"Harry, of course. Who else would 'him' be?"

He looks at me with a sad, _sad_ smile. His eyeliner is smeared across his face from crying, and his eyes are red, too. Merlin, he wasn't in here _that_ long. Times flies for someone when they hate everything.

"No," he says, turning away from the sink to face me. "No, I don't love Harry. I love him like a brother, and that's all he'll ever be to me." He pulls his arm away from me and rubs his eyes with his hands. "You can leave now, though. I'm fine now, really. Besides, it takes me at least twenty-four hours to make something like brownies, since I usually blow everything up."

"Stop lying, Draco."

"I'm not lying! You've heard Harry complain about it himself. Fire is in love with me!"

I roll my eyes. "No, about you being fine. Sit down and tell me what's wrong."

He looks away, folding his arms tightly across his chest. "I don't see why I should. I had to _ask_ you to call me by my first name, for Merlin's sake."

Taking his arm, I drag him over and sit him down in one of the chairs, and then I sit in my own and pull it up so that my legs are spread outside of his and he can't go anywhere else unless he crawls over the chair (which I won't put outside of something he'd do) or pushes me out of the way.

"Please?" I say, smiling warmly at him and batting my eyelashes.

"You're barbaric," he says, narrowing his eyes at me. "No."

"I'll be your servant for a day," I say, smiling brightly, leaning in right next to him so he's forced to look right at me.

He blushes. "Only six-year-olds bribe people like that."

The blush triggers something in my brain. I practically hear the click. He said it depends who 'him' means...that means, if it's not Harry, it's somebody else. But wh—oh my gods. Dear sweet Merlin, what _am_ I still doing here?

He sees the surprise in my eyes, and he cocks an eyebrow. "What's wrong with _you_?" he asks, rubbing his thumb underneath his eye, smearing the eyeliner even more.

I scramble for words for a few moments, stuttering like an idiot, before I find anything coherent: "Why didn't you tell me?"

He blushes even deeper, and looks away from me. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop lying, dammit! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well how the hell was I _supposed_ to tell you?" he yells, looking back at me with steel grey eyes ignited in fury. "_Excuse me, Mr. Weasley, but you're right attractive and after all these times of you showing up to shag my best friend I've happened to fall in love with you! Oh, what, you still want the best friend? That's alright; I'll wallow in self pity on my own. No, no, no, don't mind me. I wouldn't dream of getting in the way of your love; that would be rude._" He drops his forehead to the table with a bang. "Honestly, George, you think everything just has a single, simple answer. Sorry, but, that's never _ever_ been the case for _anything_."

Oh my gods, he does. He really does. I don't even know what to do.

"Draco, I..." I trail off. I have no idea what to say.

"Yes, George, that's right," he says, lifting his head. "Pretend that you have something to say. And, while you're at it, would you mind leaving already? I really did mean about wallowing in self pity on my own. I really don't like people."

My eyes trail down Malfoy. He has nearly the exact same build as me. He's tall, and thin, with a thin face, and a toned...well, everything.

And something latches onto my brain, then, and I can't tear my eyes away from him. I want him. Badly. I'll figure out however this is supposed to work; this sex stuff is like a second language to a man. Bloody hell, what about Harry? He'd kill me. He already hates me, and this isn't going to help any... Well, one day can't hurt. I'll tell Draco everything, and he can help me think of something.

"Draco," I say, reaching out my hand to tug lightly at the side of his glittering gold top. "Remember that massage I never got done with? Do you want me to finish?"

He turns to me and blinks at lot. "What?"

"A massage. Would you like one?"

"You mean...like...my back? The part you said you'd finish?"

I nod.

He looks away, and then back. "_Why_?"

"Why not?"

The confused look in his eyes doesn't go away. "You're weird, George. Yes, I'd like one, but what does this have to do with any—"

"Take me to your bedroom. Or, if you want, you could lie in the middle of the floor. I don't care which."

"Merlin, George, I don't under—"

"Pick one, Draco."

He sighs. "My room. I hate lying on the floor."

He leads me there, pushing his fingers through his hair on the way, muttering inaudibly to himself. I like his room more than Harry's. The blue and purple shades are dark, but in such a manner that it makes you feel lighter.

"Okay, now what?" he says. "You're really confusing m—"

"Scarf off," I say, unwrapping it from his neck and tossing it onto the closed trunk at the foot of his bed.

"And you keep _interrupting_ me," he mutters.

"Shirt off," I say, ignoring him. I pull it over his head before he can do it himself. And, wow, does he have _abs_. I didn't get a good look at the front of him before. I was too busy looking at his Mark and telling him to lie on his stomach. I can see his ribs, too, and his nipples are pink against his pale skin and sitting more erect than my cock is right now since my pants are in the way. "And your earring." I pull it out slowly and set it lightly on the scarf and shirt. "And your bracelet thingy." I set it by the earring. "And we can't forget the feather behind your ear." I set that down, too.

"Bed," I say, pointing.

"Merlin, George, I feel like your ordering me into my bed for sex or something. What is this massage _for_?"

Little does he know that's _exactly_ my plan. "To make you feel better," I say as he crawls onto the bed and lies across it on his stomach. "Stop talking."

"If making me feel better means I'm confused, you can probably stop now."

Before he can do anything to stop me, I crawl on after him, sitting in the small of his back, my legs straddling him.

"Uh, George, are you—"

"No talking," I repeat, lifting my arms up to pull my shirt over my head. I toss it onto the floor, making sure he sees it drop onto the floor.

His eyes widen. "I thought you said you were giving me a massage..." he whispers.

"I lied." I lean down, bracing my hands against his shoulder blades and leaning my face to his head. I nibble on the top of his ear, and he sucks in a shaky breath.

"George, please," Draco says, using his teeth to play with his lip again.

"Please what?" I whisper.

"Please...please...wait," he finally gets out. "I don't know if we should do this..."

"And why shouldn't we? You do it with others, don't you?"

"It's...its different when you love someone..."

"I want you, Draco," I say, tracing my tongue over his ear. "Aren't you the type of guy that likes to live in the moment? Live with me."

He holds back a moan. "But what about Harry?"

"Harry and I are over. It wasn't meant to be anything. I have no intention of trying to make amends with him when I have _you_."

He sighs. "George...I...I don't know..."

"We don't have to make love, Draco," I say, kissing his temple. "We can just lie here and talk about nothing if you'd like. We can live in the moment after we figure this out a bit, if that's what you're after."

A shudder ripples through him, racing down his spine and straight into my groin. Gods, I hope he doesn't want to just lie here...

"Do you have any idea what you do to me, George?" he whispers, one of his hands reaching back to hold onto my leg.

"Not a clue," I say, chuckling lightly.

"Too much. This is the first time you've touched me in this way, and I don't want you to stop. And you're okay with just lying here to talk, even though it's dead obvious you'd rather just fuck my brains out. And you didn't even say it that way, like everybody else does... You said making love. Did you even think about that?"

Oh. I did say that, didn't I? "No, actually," I say, leaning away from him just a bit. "I really didn't."

The next thing I know, I'm flat on my back and Draco is straddling me, his groin grinding into mine and his lips hard on mine and his fingers twined into mine and pressing them against the bed so there's nowhere for me to go. I have no idea how he did it all so fast, but he managed it.

"You're used to Harry, aren't you?" he says between kissing me, our tongues twining and our lips bruising against the others and our teeth clashing ever so often. "He's a bottom. He's a catcher. Whatever you want to call it. He probably didn't tell you, but I won't ever catch the first time. I top, and I'll pitch so hard you won't know what's hit you for days. You'll be sore all over, and you won't regret a single bit of it."

I moan into his mouth, grinding my groin back into his, and he groans back.

"Where's your wand?" he says, licking his tongue fat against my jugular.

"In my pocket," I say breathily. He reaches down to our hips and fumbles his hand into my huge pocket, pulling out my wand. He whispers words I've never heard before, and suddenly both our pairs of pants are unraveling from our bodies, and going into separate piles of thread onto the floor. And he says the same words again, and our underwear is doing the same. And—oh gods. Oh sweet gods of love and sex and of everything.

We're still grinding our groins together, and I can see his cock, and it's long and thick and flushed and hard. It's straining against his skin; the vein is nearly bursting. I see mine, too, and it's pretty much the same. Harry's cock is a bit bigger, but I like Draco's better. I'm not entirely sure why, but while Harry's was sort of a job—or an experiment; that would be a bit better of an explanation—Draco's is something I really want. _Really_ want.

I never even imagined thinking that. Me, wanting Draco's Malfoy's cock. That's almost funny. Fred is going to kill me. I don't even care. Merlin, what am I saying? I don't care what Fred will think? I'm going mad.

"I want you, George," Draco whispers huskily. He pulls his face away from mine and looks down at me, his lips red from bruising and his steely grey eyes dark with lust. "I want you more than anybody I've ever wanted." He leans down so that our eyes are completely locked, and continues: "I want to fuck your brains out."

"Oh my gods," I say, forcing myself to keep my eyes open. I just want to close them and savor his words and never let him go. "Would you?" I ask, pulling my hands away from his and wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his shoulders. "You'd be my first, if you did."

I see the breath catch in his throat, and he closes his eyes. "Merlin, George, I had no idea you were a...a virgin. I thought you and Harry had at least gotten _that_ far..."

I feel the heat well up in my face. "We were going to, but...well, we got into our fight before we could. I'm glad we didn't, though. I'd hate for my first time to be nothing but an experiment."

He reopens his eyes. "You're okay with it being me, then?"

"I _want_ you to be the first, Draco."

He smiles. "I'm so glad I asked you to call me that."

"I would have done it on my own."

"I'll go easy on you," he says, grabbing my wand again. I have no idea where he threw it in the first place, but obviously it was close enough to reach again. "I'll make it perfect. I'll make sure it doesn't hurt at all. Of course, a little sting is lovely, but—"

I put a finger to his lips. "Just fuck me, Draco."

He nods and says another spell I'm unaware of (I should really start reading up on these or something), and lubricant squirts out of the end and into his hand (yup, definitely going to need that one). He crawls backwards on me for a moment, and then his dry hand is tilting my arse up as much as it can with me on my back. Cold fingers slide into my arse crack, and they graze my opening. I tilt my head back and moan, wishing I could watch him while he does the things he's doing. A finger slides into me, and my hands tangle into the top blanket of the bed. _In and out, back and forth, slide, slide, slide_. Two fingers. My toes curl. Three fingers. My eyes roll.

And then Malfoy is whispering again, one of the spells I don't know. Lube squirts into his hand again, and he rubs more of it at my opening, and I watch with lust as he coats his cock in it. He spends a generous amount of time doing that, and I don't realize that he's doing it on purpose until I dart my eyes up to see that his own eyes are watching me, following my reactions.

"Are you ready?" he says, tilting my arse up again.

I nod, and I feel something cold against my opening again. But it's bigger, and it's warmer than his fingers were, and oh dear gods that's his cock head of course it is wow that feels good and it's not even inside of me yet I am pathetic.

"Here I go," he whispers huskily.

I don't even get to answer. He pushes inside of me, and I bite hard to my bottom lip. It stings—yeah, it stings, but it's a good sting. Way better than a good suffocation or a good death. He does it slowly, watching my face for any great signs of need to stop what he's doing. And then his balls are against my arse, and he's as deep in as he can go. He pulls back out just as slow, until only the head of his cock is still inside. And then he does it again, still slowly.

When his head is all that's in again, I've had enough.

"Go," I say, tilting my arse up even more. "Go harder."

He does. I've never felt something so amazing in my entire life.

"_Harder_," I whisper.

His cock pushes deep inside of me, and his balls press against me more.

"_Faster_."

Our breathing quickens. He slams into me, his balls slapping against my arse. I moan loud and long and deep, and his arms loop underneath my knees to put my legs over his shoulders, and my arse tilts up even higher. And his fingernails dig into my skin and his palms are sweaty, and his head is tilted up in ecstasy, and—

Oh sweet Merlin. Stars explode in front of my eyes, and I moan loud.

"Found it," Malfoy says, looking down at me with triumph in his eyes.

I'm not even sure what he's found, and I don't even care what it is. These stars are beautiful and his cock is beautiful and his smeary eyeliner eyes are beautiful and his bruised lips are beautiful and his face is beautiful. His torso is perfect and his arms are muscley and his thighs and calves are strong and his arse is toned and his body is perfect. And I don't know why I didn't see it before but I never want this moment to end so long as I live and I want to fall asleep in his arms and I am so glad he's a pitcher because I would completely ruin the pitch—hell, I'd probably throw it backwards. I'm definitely a bottom...I'm going to catch his perfect pitches for the rest of my life, and there will be no regrets in the matter.

Gods, my cock is very lonely. I reach my hand out to it, but Draco swats it away and does it himself. His hand pumps it hard, like a child playing with a worm (good gods, what a revolting analogy; the things I think during sex). He strokes and he rubs and he twirls and he pumps, and—

And suddenly my mouth and vocal cords are working on their own. "D—Dray—Drake—DRACO!" I moan. My climax shakes the walls. My cock spills out over Draco's hand and my stomach and his bed. And then he's moaning my name too, thrusting one last, hard, deep, fast time inside of me. I feel his release curl inside of me, and it feels like it never stops. Good thing, too, because it's going to suck when it does.

But it does finally end, and Draco pushes my legs off of his shoulders, and his head is hanging above me, and his breathing is almost harder than mine. His cock comes out of my opening with a pop, and he lifts his head to look at me. His eyes are still dark, and Merlin knows how dark mine are.

"Come here," I say, holding my arms out to him.

He does without hesitation, falling into my arms, his arms wrapping around my head and his lips pressing softly against mine. He tastes like a god, or an angel, or whatever you call somebody who's perfect.

He pulls his face away from mine, then, looking me over with a tired but tender look. "Did you like that?"

"You're so cocky," I say, smiling warmly at him. "Of course I liked it. I loved it. I'm glad you were my first."

He smiles. "Can I say something without you giving any sort of answer at all?"

"Of course."

"I love you, George. I want to do things like this with you all the time. I want to talk to you and make love to you and lay in your arms. I want to live in the moment with you; hell, I even want to live with you. I really do."

Because he told me not to give him an answer (and thank Merlin he did, because I have no idea how to answer to that), I pull him back down for a kiss.

"Do you want to sleep?" I ask in a whisper.

He nods.

We roll around until we manage to get underneath the covers, with his back to me and my body spooning his, my arm wrapped over his waste and our legs twined together.

"Go to sleep now, little dragon," I whisper (Draco means dragon, after all), leaning up to kiss his temple before settling my head down onto the pillow. "I'll be here when you wake."

I remember when I was thinking about all of the jobs I've tried, including helping Charlie with his. I didn't like dragons, then. I think I like them, now... I think I like them a lot.

**XxX**

When I wake up in the morning, I'm alone in Draco's bed.

Naturally.

But there's a note beside me, on the pillow. I pick it up, and it Draco's elegant scrawl it says:

_Harry's back. I'm stalling. Get out while you still can be.  
>—D<em>

It takes me about ten seconds to throw on all of my clothes, and then five to erase all signs that I've been here. I turn the note over and write on the back:

_Thank you for a wonderful time. I'll be back as soon as I can.  
>xoxo<em>

I apparate away, wondering how stupid I'll sound to him for writing those X's and O's.

It takes a long while to walk back up to the castle, but as soon as I'm inside I realize with a jolt that I can hear everybody in the great all.

I look down at my watch to see that its breakfast time, and I have about three minutes to get ready for my classes.

I burst into my room, and Fred gasps at me as I rush around the room changing and getting my things in order.

"You stayed the night!" he says, beyond excited. "Tell me _everything_!"

"Harry's never going to happen," I say as I pull on a clean shirt. "Draco's in love with me, and I'm falling back in love with him." I change into clean pants. "He's the one I slept with last night." I throw my robes on. "You can yell at me later."

I'm out of the room before I even see his face.

**XxX**

_Hours later..._

"Nice of you to come back," Fred says darkly, his arms crossed.

"You're not actually mad at me, are you?" I ask, flopping onto my bed. I left lunch early so Fred wouldn't kill me for being away longer. "You wanted me to find love, right? Who cares if it's Harry or not?"

"_I_ care if it's Harry or not! You falling in love with Malfoy is...its absurd! It's preposterous! It's _revolting_!"

I glare at him. "You don't know what he's like now."

"Oh? Then what, pray tell, is he like, _George_?"

I press my lips into a soft line. "He's just like you were."

His arms uncross, and his angry face softens. "He is?"

I nod. "Loud and opinionated and the exact same size."

Fred sighs. "I just...it's weird to me."

"Join the club."

"Does Harry know?"

"Not yet."

He sighs again. "Are you going to go back to see him?"

"As soon as I can, yeah. But this week is busy, I don't know when."

"I hope it's soon."

I tilt my head in confusion. "You do?"

He smiles warmly. "Yeah, Georgey. I do."


	4. Cuatro

**Chapter Four**

_February 20, a Monday..._

"Alright, class," I say, standing up behind the podium. "Please pull out your essays on the three Unforgivable Curses." It's a fourth year class, and it happens to hold the middle sibling of the Valentine family. Cherise is her name, and her hair is different every day. Today it's short and spiky, the color green (she's a Slytherin), and the spikes are tipped in yellow (her boyfriend is a Hufflepuff, which is beyond me; I guess I'm still used to Slytherin's only dating Ravenclaw's and other Slytherin's). Their oldest brother is named Joshua, in Ravenclaw, and his hair is the same platinum blonde as Draco's. And to make matters crazier, both of their parents were in Gryffindor, and while their mothers hair reminds me of Hermione, their fathers reminds me of my own. None of them look anything alike, and I'm not sure if asking if they're all adopted would be rude to them.

And speaking of Draco...

I blink a couple of times, but no, he doesn't go away. He's standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, in...sweet Merlin, are those _leather pants_?

I look away from him and to the students as fast as I can so I don't get too distracted.

"Uh, remember now," I say, "it's supposed to be nine inches long, and...and stuff."

Draco snorts, and a couple of students turn around and give him weird looks.

Once all of the essays are out, I summon them to me with my wand and set them in a large pile on my desk a little ways over.

"Now then!" I say, clasping my hands together. "Who can tell me why the Unforgivable Curses are illegal?"

Cherise's hand snakes up lazily.

"Miss Valentine?"

"Who's the guy in the back?" she asks, jabbing her thumb in Draco's direction.

The entire class turns around. Draco waves, and I groan.

"You couldn't have waited ten more minutes?" I ask him, leaning forward on the podium. "This is my last class of the day."

"Sorry," Draco says with a grin that says he's not sorry at all. "I was unaware."

"I don't believe you in the least. Class, this is the wizard-renowned Draco Malfoy. Now out, Dra—"

The class bursts into "hello" and "y_ou're_ Draco Malfoy?" and "you look hot" and "is that _leather_?"

Draco waves all of them off with a short flick of his hand, walking through the desks up to where I'm standing.

"Don't even think about it," I say, backing away from him.

"Oh, posh, you know you'd love it," he says, stopping at the podium to lean against it.

"Draco, please, I'm working."

"Not very well."

The class snickers.

"Good gods, Draco, ten more minutes and I'll be done! Out, out, out!" I wave my arms at him to shoo him out.

He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. "Can't you let the class out just a teensy bit earlier? Just for me?"

I sigh, dropping my forehead into one of my hands. "As a matter of fact, no, I cannot. Please, Draco, just go sit in the desk or something."

He sighs too. "If you insist, Professor Weasley." As he walks past me he subtlety grazes my arse with his hand.

I glare at him, and he just smiles brightly as he continues off to the desk.

"Anyway!" I say, going back to stand in front of the podium. "Does anybody have a real answer for me?"

Cherise raises her hand again.

"Yes, Miss Valentine?" I say coldly.

"Are you gay?" she asks.

Without missing a beat, I reply, "My personal affairs are of no importance during class time. Ask me when our time is up." And before anybody else can raise their hand, I add: "And if one more person asks one more thing that is non-class related, I will take away House points. Is that understood?"

The students groan as their acknowledgements.

The less than ten minutes but a little more than five minutes of time pass slowly and awkwardly. Draco apparently keeps making faces behind me at the desk, because every time my back is at him the class bursts into fits of giggles. And, whenever I'm actually looking at him, he's completely raping me with his eyes.

But it finally ends, and while half of the class leaves, the other half stays in their seats.

"I am not hosting an extra class about my personal affairs," I say. "All of you _shoo_ before I take off House points. I have a friend here and I plan to tend to that fact without _interruptions_."

The remaining students groan and leave, except of course Cherise.

"Five points from Slytherin, Miss Valentine. What do you want?"

"I'm still wondering if you're gay," she says, leaning against one of the tables.

"You think I'll tell you after you've deliberately lost House points? I don't think so. Go hang around your friends and discuss my not giving you an answer with them, alright? I'm not going to talk about my sexual orientation to a fourth year."

She frowns and, making quite a fuss about it, leaves the room.

I turn to Draco, glaring darkly, and point to my office. "That way. Now."

He grins and is up at the top of the stairs in hardly a second. I follow him, closing and locking the door behind me.

"Draco Lucius _Malfoy_," I say, putting my hands on my hips and glaring at him, "You' are a _monster_!"

"A monster in leather," he says, leaning seductively against the office desk.

I look him over. He is indeed in leather pants, the color black and nearly tighter to his legs than the jeans he was wearing when we slept together—or was wearing, before they came off. They're covered in zippers and, if my eyes are correct, he's used a shrinking charm on them. His shirt is a black t-shirt that's been stylishly ripped in multiple places, with words (also ripped) on it in gold that says, "_Warmth is for pussies_" (I'm assuming it's a biker shirt, though I was unaware Draco had a motorcycle). He has three chains around his neck (all different lengths), a leather bracelet with silver studs, and his eyes are again thick with black eyeliner. His hair is spiked up again too, he has a diamond stud in his ear, and he also has a silver ring on the left side of his bottom lip. His shoes are dull leather boots with the laces untied and dull silver rings to hold them together in more than a few places.

"Mmm, yes, that's true," I say quietly, averting my eyes from him. I'm supposed to be mad, after all. "But I'm still appalled at you. Honestly, I was giving a very important lesson!"

"Oh, posh, Unforgivable Curses are boring anyway! There are much more important things to fret over."

"Yeah?" I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the frame of the door. "Like _what_?"

"Oh, you know, nothing too big," he says nonchalantly, examining the perfect nails on his hands. "Just the fact that the Headmistress told me I could spend the week here."

My jaw drops. "She didn't!" I say, anger forgotten. "It's not even a holiday!"

"My father always came to watch my Quidditch games, so I thought it'd be okay if _I_ visited. Looks like I was right."

I'm smiling brightly, but it drops into a frown. "That's wonderful, except for the fact that you'll probably have me fired by tomorrow if you sit in on any of my classes."

He giggles guiltily. "Don't worry, McGonagall said that you could have one day of the week off and someone would substitute for you, and the other days I'll roam around the grounds and Hogsmede and do other things I haven't done in a few years. I spend my life in Harry's, the Weasley's, or my own house; I just don't like being places I'm not familiar with. I promise I won't bother you except for the last class of the day on Friday. McGonagall also said I could ruin your life once."

"Mmm, good to know. I'll plan on being sick that day."

"I'll make sure to come in at a different time, then."

"Come in at my seventh year class. That's right before lunch, so we can just eat in my office right afterwards."

"Speaking of being in your office..." he says, pushing himself away from the desk and walking towards me.

"I don't think so!" I say, holding my hands up. "I'm still mad at you!" Not really. "And there is no way I'm cleaning this place up after you're finished with me."

He stops right in front of me, my arms pushed aside, leaning up against my chest and twirling his fingers through my hair. "Actually," he says, not looking at my head, but at the mass of carrot on my scalp, "I was planning on letting you try to pitch tonight."

"Well in that case," I say, licking my lips. "I'll go show you the bedroom."

We walk calmly down the corridors, teaming with students, standing a foot away from each other so nobody else wonders if I'm gay. Honestly, I don't care if they do, I just don't want to be interrupted. When we walk into the room, Draco goes straight to the mirror on my wall to take off all of his accessories. I, on the other hand, go to the closet to get out of these blasted robes. Honestly, if Snape were still alive, I wouldn't be surprised if mine put his billowing bat wings to shame.

"Why do you have a picture of yourself on your bedside table?" Draco asks behind me.

I turn around to see him with just his pants, shirt, eyeliner, and lip ring still on, examining the picture of Fred.

Fred hasn't moved at all; he's just sitting in his chair, but I can tell that he's examining Draco right back.

"Uh, no reason!" I say, flying across the room and snatching it up so he can't see it anymore, holding it tightly to my chest. I hear Fred chuckling just barely.

"No, tell me," Draco says, leaning up from how he was perched to look at the portrait. "You're not a secret Professor Lockhart, are you?"

"Good gods, no. I just...like to remember that I'm not ugly, alright?"

Draco puts his hands on his hips and frowns.

A muffled, "Tell him, George," sounds from the portrait.

I sigh and lean the frame away from me, holding it so that Draco and I can both see it. "It's Fred," I say. "Dumbledore gave it to me."

"Dumbledore did? When did h—"

"Heyuh, Malfoy!" Fred says loudly.

Draco screams. He trips backwards. He laughs. He stands back up and hits me in the shoulder. "That's for Fred," he says, eyes bright with laughter. He takes the portrait from me (if I had seen it coming I wouldn't have let him have it; it's very, _very_ dear to me) and smiles down at it.

"How d'you do, Fred?"

"Mighty fine, thanks," Fred says. I can tell he's uncomfortable, but Fred's always been the more outgoing of us two. He's not one to let himself be held back. "And yourself?"

"Positively splendid. I assume George's told you everything."

Fred actually kind of blushes, which is rare. "Yeah, every last bit."

This time Draco blushes. "Oh, I didn't really mean to the last detail."

Then I blush. "Awkward," I mumble, snatching the portrait back. "Sorry," I say. "He asked and I told him."

"Don't even think about blaming me about this!" Fred says, wagging a finger at me. "You were having just as much fun telling me as I was listening!"

Draco blushes deeper. "Glad to know I'm of a similar interest between the two of you."

"Well you are attractive," Fred says, looking over at Draco. "Anyone who denies that fact is nothing but jealous."

"Thank," Draco says, smiling awkwardly.

"Alright, Freddie, time for bed," I say, walking towards the bathroom.

"Oh, yuck!" he says, covering his eyes. "I want both of you to put silencing charms on this door, pa-lease! I might like listening to the stories, but actually hearing it is revolting."

"We'll be sure to," I say, setting his portrait on the sink in front of the mirror so he can see himself. "Have fun in here."

"Have fun out there," he mutters, his eyes still covered.

I close the bathroom door, and as we said we would, Draco and I each put a silencing charm on the door—and the main door, because who knows what Cherise is doing at the moment. And locking charms...the best we know.

And then Draco is kissing me, pushing me onto my bed and ripping off my clothes, tearing everything in the process. His lip ring tastes like metal, but I'm not going to take it off; it's really quite erotic.

"I have no idea how to get your pants off," I say. "They're not fabric, so I can't undo them by unraveling it."

"I have a brilliant and simple idea," Draco says, rolling off of me. With the help of his wand and a few zippers, he shimmies surprisingly quickly out of the pants, mostly lying on his back and flailing his legs on the bed beside me. "I had so much fun planning this outfit," he says, sitting up to yank off his shirt. "Your eyes when you saw me first were hilarious."

"And your cock was bulging through the leather," I say, pulling him back on top of me. "Did you know that, the more often you wear pants that don't let that...uh...breathe, the smaller it will get?"

"Not if you know the right spells, it won't."

I just blink at him, and he grins.

He leans down to kiss me, his hands gripping tightly to the part of my shirt that's at my chest. My hands rub over every inch of his skin that they can reach, his sides and his back and his chest and his—boxers. Those have got to go.

I grab my wand and cast a silent unraveling charm, and then he's completely naked on top of me. Now my hands trail over his arse, and a few other places while I'm at it, causing him to moan deeply into my mouth.

"I just want you to know," he says, casting the same charms on my shirt, pants, and boxers (hopefully we'll be able to decipher which threads go to which when we're getting dressed later), "that out of every man I've ever done anything with, you're by far the best."

I smile at him. "Too bad you're the only one I've been with like this. I can't compare you to anybody."

"Well, you can kind of compare me to Harry."

"No I can't. He's not even close to you."

He smiles back at me. "We are both going to be beyond sore by the end of this week, aren't we?"

I grin. "_Oh _yeah."

**XxX**

I wake up first. Of course I do; I'm used to taking short naps throughout the day, plus Draco is used to sleeping whenever and however long he feels like it. I get up and put our clothes back together (yes, it's very difficult to figure out which thread goes where) and refresh the locking and silencing charms.

There's half an hour till breakfast, and I know Draco will want to take a shower after we spilled over each other multiple times yesterday.

"Draco," I whisper, crawling in beside him and shaking him lightly. "Draco, it's time to wake up."

"Juss…juss five more minutes, Harry," he breathes, burying his face into my chest.

I chuckle, crawling back out of the bed to throw on a bathrobe to get down to the male faculty bathroom. There are three extra trunks in the room, so the house elves must have brought it in while we were asleep. After I pick out what I'll be wearing for teaching today, I go through Draco's things and pick out something that any seventh year would wear: faded jeans, a white, long sleeve thermal that'll be worn underneath a checkered green, button-up t-shirt. Then I summon his lip ring (because he took it off before we fell asleep, but _damn_, I had fun with that thing last night) and diamond stud earring, and then I find his light grey bathrobe for him to wear down to the bathroom with me. He can get the things that he uses to clean himself on his own, because I have no idea what he does.

"Alright, up," I say, swirling my wand at him.

His eyes flutter open, and he smiles groggily at me. "Heyuh, sexy," he says, stretching out across the bed, revealing pretty much everything about his body.

My erection jumps beneath my bathrobe, but I ignore it.

"Breakfast is soon," I say, handing him his own bathrobe. "Come shower with me."

"Oh, al_right_."

After he gets all of his things together, I take him through the secret passageways (that _do_ show up on the map) so we don't run into anybody. Even though we're both straining against our skin, we actually just shower like regular people would.

"Wow," he says, holding up the clothes I grabbed for him. "I feel like a student already."

"Yeah, that was my plan. You can wear something else if you want. I don't care."

"Naw, it's good."

Once dressed, we head through the regular corridors to the Great Hall. There's a guest seat beside my regular spot, and nearly every student in the entire hall is staring at our interactions the entire time.

"I see Hogwarts still disapproves of secrets," Draco says, making a face at a Hufflepuff first year that's giving him a weird look.

"Never has," I say, chuckling at him.

"Hey, Malfoy!"

Draco and I turn to see Cherise Valentine making her way up to the professors table with two of her other friends.

"Miss Valentine," I say, "if you and your friends don't go back to your seat in approximately five seconds I will give you all a month of detention."

They frown. "Aw, you're no fun when your boyfriend is over," she says as they turn around and walk back away.

I roll my eyes. "I hate kids."

He grins. "It's okay. I hate everybody."

**OoOoOoO**

By the end of the week, I'm beyond surprised that I haven't been fired yet, and I am indeed very sore. True to his word, Draco hasn't interrupted any of my classes yet. But now it's Friday, and my next class is the seventh year one, and I'm terrified of what he's going to do to ruin my life. The day's already been bad enough, because when I woke up, he wasn't anywhere. He left a note saying that he was already getting ready for destroying my life, which doesn't make me feel very good at all. He's already sent me one Howler a class, each of them just suggestive enough that only certain people understand what he's actually saying. Though he has sent me a regular owl every time he sees an old lady, which makes me wonder where on earth he is right now…

"I just want to give all of you a heads up," I say as the class starts, "that Headmistress McGonagall has given Draco Malfoy permission to do absolutely anything he wants to interrupt my classes today. So he could at any time swing in here on a vine dressed in a leopard print Speedo. And don't put that past him, either. He's a weird guy."

"I disagree," a voice says behind me.

I whirl around to see Draco leaning against the wall behind me, and instead of the Speedo he's in completely normal clothes. Slacks, dress shirt, Converse, and a shiny green ring in his left ear.

I smirk at him. "What? No vine swinging? I was looking forward to that."

"Nope," he says, pushing away from and walking up to me. "I decided I wouldn't be the _worst_ boyfriend in the world."

A couple of students gasp behind me, and I turn around to face them. "Just go with it," I say before turning back to the blonde.

"I brought a game," he says, holding up an empty firewhiskey bottle.

"No getting anybody drunk with refilling charms, Draco," I say, snatching the bottle from him.

"Oh, no, that's no fun at all," he says, pushing me aside so he can stand in front of the podium. "I don't know any of you, but I can tell we're going to have fun anyway. Hopefully there was homework due today, because nobody has to turn it in."

The Ravenclaw's grumble to themselves and the Hufflepuff's cheer, because there was indeed an entire essay due.

"Bring it in on Monday," I say, standing beside Draco.

"Anyway," Draco says, taking the bottle back. "How many of you have ever played Spin the Bottle?"

Half of the class bursts into laughter and the other half snorts, along with me.

"What?" Draco says. "Come on! This game is great! You're a Gryffindor-Slytherin class, aren't you?"

"No," Joshua Valentine says. "We're a Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff class."

"Ooh, even better," Draco says. "Nobody wants to kiss a Gryffindor."

They laugh again, because everybody knows that I'm a Gryffindor.

"Alright, everybody up or you'll be squished by tables."

The entire class scrambles up onto my little stage, and Draco waves his wand to move all of the tables at once and stack them on the fire side of the room. Then he turns all of the stools into pillows, moves them into a circle, and tosses the bottle into the middle of the circle. Just before it lands and shatters into a million pieces he catches it with his wand and lowers it gently to the floor.

"Also, I think we should decorate," he says, turning around to face the students and all. "Everyone, pick a color and a stone in the wall to draw on."

I groan as everybody whoops around the room, using levitating charms to lift each other to the ceiling stones and hanging each other by ankles to write things upside down.

"You're going to help me clean this up, you know," I say, elbowing him.

"Nope," he says. "That's still Filch's job."

When everyone is covered in magical paint and other artistic marks, I use a silent spell to clean them all up before they sit down at each of the pillows.

"Okay, you all know the rules?" Draco asks. "Good." He conjures up two more pillows and seats him and me on opposite sides of the circles.

He spins first, and I can see him just barely twitching his wand to make it stop where he wants it to: pointing at me, obviously.

"Hey, that's cheating!" a Hufflepuff girl named Lucky says.

"Not if you're my age, it's not," Draco says, sticking his tongue out at her. He raises his wand and yells, "Expelliarmus!" and every single wand in the room, including mine, flies away. Before any of us can catch them, he maneuvers them onto the rafters. "Those will stay up here so I'm the only one who can cheat," he says, grinning. "My game, my rules. I'll tell them as we go. Come 'ere, George."

I laugh. "No way, mate. I'm not going to let you rape me in the middle of my own classroom. That's office business."

Most of the students cover their mouths to mask their sniggers.

He grins evilly. "Either you come here, I go there, or my wand decides—and I do mean this one"—he waves his wand—"not the other, thank you very much."

The Hufflepuff's laugh, but the Ravenclaw's roll their eyes.

"You guys are no fun at all," he says to anyone wearing blue as he stands up to walk over to me. "You always were the most boring out of all of us. At least the Hufflepuff's are friendly. You guys just like reading."

"Don't be rude, Draco," I say, shaking a finger at him.

"They started it," he says, using his wand to make me stand.

"Commencing the life ruining?" I ask quietly as he stands right in front of me.

"No," he says, putting his wand into his back pocket and wrapping his arms around my neck. "Just a kiss."

And it is just a kiss. Until of course he shoves his tongue into my mouth and I grind myself into him and the entire room either pretends to puke or comments on how cute we are together.

But not a single person acts homophobic. Nobody cares about it at all.

And I think that's the most I've felt that I've truly belonged somewhere since coming here.

**XxX**

_The next day, on February 25…_

"George?" Fred says to me once Draco is a few minutes out of the room on Saturday so he can tell Harry he's not dead. His goodbye kiss is still hot on my lips, and I trace my fingers over them lightly, still smiling after him like an idiot.

"Yeah?" I say, looking over at him with a smile. He's wearing a sort of outfit that makes him look like a nature-Mrs. Frizzle (you think that's a Muggle book? Guess again). He has a blue popsicle in his hands, and a heavily written on piece of parchment.

He's been crying.

"Fred? What's wrong?" I pick up his frame. "What's going on?"

"You're happy now, right?" he asks, sniffing in deeply.

"What do you—"

"Are you happy with Draco?" he asks over me.

I stand him up beside me to look at him better. "Define happy."

"Will you be with him forever?"

"I don't know him _that_ well…"

"What's his favorite instrument?"

"Clarinet, but I don't see how—"

"And his least favorite fish?"

"He's terrified of clown fish, but I still don't—"

"You know him well enough to know if you want to be with him forever. So choose."

"Choose wha—"

"Choose if you'll be happy or not if you're with him forever."

I frown. "Fred, why are you crying? Tell me and I'll choose."

Fred sits down heavily in his chair. "I was talking to Dumbledore, George. He said that I…I'm not like the portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses. I won't last forever."

My blood runs cold. "But…but his note. The one that came with you. It said you would last until you broke."

Fred chews on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, that's the thing. I'll break on my own."

I fall backwards on my bed, my physical feeling going numb. "You can't leave," I whisper. "I need you here."

"That's why you need to be happy," Fred says. "I don't want to leave unless you're happy."

I force myself to sit back up. "How much longer?"

Fred bursts into tears, and I hold him tight to my chest.

"Sooner than later, then," I whisper when he stops.

"Noon tomorrow," he whispers. "I'll be gone forever. He can't make another."

I join him in my tears. But they end, eventually, as they always do.

"I just wanted there to be closure," Fred says, stroking the side of his portrait. He does that when he wants to "pretend" that he's stroking me instead. "I wanted to have a big goodbye, and I could leave while you sleep, so you wouldn't see me disappear in…well, however I will."

I nod. "That's a…a good idea. What do you want to do before I sleep? I'll do anything."

Fred smiles sadly at me, the salt of his tears sparkling on his cheeks in the bright light around us. "I want to say goodbye to mum and dad," he whispers. "I just want to say goodbye."

**XxX**

I apparate outside of the door to the Burrow, Fred's portrait in my arms, facing where our family will be.

_Knock, knock._

The door opens instantly, revealing Draco Malfoy.

"Oh," he says, blinking at me. "This is awkward."

I grin at the blonde. "You're cute, you know that?" I sidestep him into the room house and am instantly the center of blinking attention of my parents, all five of my living siblings, Hermione, Harry, Fleur, and another woman holding Percy's hand (he got married?).

"George?" Mum says, standing up from her chair, slowly looking me over.

"Before any of you say anything," I say, backing back up to the closed door, Draco close beside me, "I don't want to answer any questions. Don't ask me how I've been. Don't ask me what I've been up to. You can ask Harry and Draco anything as soon as I'm gone."

"Just Harry," Draco says, putting a hand on the small of my back. "I'll be leaving with him."

I smile at him, and then continue my little speech: "I'm going to leave in an hour, because I have work tomorrow so I need to sleep. I'm not…I'm not here because of me, though." Draco's hand drops from my back and weaves into the fingers of my right hand, to which I squeeze back so hard I'm probably cutting off circulation. "There's someone I want you guys to say hi to…" I hold up the portrait of Fred. "He'll be gone by noon tomorrow, so…well, he wanted to say goodbye."

All of their eyes dart to Fred's portrait, and then Fred speaks: "Heyuh, guys, long time no see!"

Mum, Hermione, Ginny, and Fleur jump over in screams, and Fred's portrait is yanked from my hand.

"Don't hurt him!" I yell. "That's all I've got!"

When the cries of joy don't die down, I start to go in to get him, but Draco's hand pulls me back.

"He'll be fine," he says, resting his chin lightly on my shoulder. "We all know how portraits made of someone after they die work."

I frown.

"Harry told them," he says. "The second day you came over, after he kicked you out."

I frown deeper. "He certainly didn't waste any time. And I didn't even know you knew I actually got kicked out… I thought you just knew we got into a fight."

He flips his head, swinging his golden hoop earrings around. Its beautiful how obviously gay he is. "You'll come to find that Harry tells me more now than he told Ron back in the Hogwarts years. And vice versa. He, uh…doesn't know about us yet, really. He knows I spend time with you, but that's it."

I nod. "Right. It'd probably be kind of awkward anyway, considering."

And then Harry's in front of us, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs as he looks up at me. Merlin, he is so _short_.

"Have I apologized yet?" he asks.

"I forgive you," I say without giving any numbers (zero sounds close, though).

"Fred hasn't changed at all," Harry says with a small smile. "Funny, because the nature of how those portraits are made usually makes whoever it's of change more than they would if they were still alive."

"I wouldn't know. I don't know how they're made."

Harry sighs. "George, I need to talk to you."

"You can't have him!" Draco says loudly (but nobody else looks over because they're too infatuated with Fred), stepping up to Harry. "I mean…" He steps back, his face slightly red, and he drops his hand from mine. "Sorry. Don't mind me. Continue you on."

Harry blinks at Draco, realization dawning in his eyes.

"Well, so much for that," I say, taking Draco's hand back. "Sorry, Harry. He got me first."

Harry's jaw drops. "Wow. I never would have seen this coming. Ever. You and…wow." He rubs the thin layer of stubble on his chin. "I suppose I should be mad, but…" He chuckles. "Whatever happened to Tori, Draco?"

Draco snorts. "I already told you, Harry. Tori was weeks ago. He got a boyfriend eight years older than him, too."

"Oh darn," I say sarcastically, examining my nails. "I would have so much rather had Draco be with him."

Harry laughs at me, and Draco leans over and kisses my cheek.

**XxX**

The hour is over quickly. True to my word, I leave—and true to _his_ word, Draco leaves with me. It took a bit from everyone (of course I go over the _one_ night that everybody is over; convenient, really), but I end up leaving Fred with them.

I gave the frame a crushing hug goodbye, and then I left. I'll be back tomorrow, after classes, to pick up the empty frame. My family deserves this much. Fred is more than just my brother; he's the brother to five others, the son of two, and a brother-in-law to three (though Percy's wife, Melissa, doesn't care as much, which makes sense since she and Fred have never met).

"I'm surprised you could do that," Draco says as we walk a ways from the Burrow to apparate to the school. Hopefully Minerva won't flip if she finds out about his staying over for the night. "Just hand him over, I mean. And a goodbye without tears? I couldn't have done it."

"Yeah, I hope you're ready for tonight. Fred tells me I've cried in my sleep every night for the past two months—not to mention I can feel them behind my eyes right now."

Draco stops walking just as we get to the start of the cornfield (so hardly away from the door at all) and takes both of my hands. "Misery fades," he says, "and grief never lasts forever. Especially when you have someone to make it through with. If you don't want that to be your family or Harry or anyone from the school, then I'm here for you. I've never...felt this way about anyone." He steps closer to me. "You're different. Not to mention your jokes from the Hogwarts years were brilliant. You already know that I...fell in love with you, but you've never asked why or how. Do you want to know?"

All I can do is nod.

He smiles. "When my mother died, it killed me. It was when I just barely knew Harry, so we had scheduled visits instead of randomly living together. My father was still in Azkaban, so I didn't have anything to live for. I tried killing myself the old fashioned way—"

My grip tightens on his hands, but he tells me to wait.

"I cut my wrists," he says, "like any stupid Muggle would." He turns his hands palm-up in my fingers. "Pretty, huh?"

My blood turns cold at the long, thick scars on the both of his wrists. How could I miss those? They're white as paper…

"Harry found me, obviously, in my room at my actual house. I forgot that I was supposed to meet him at the Burrow, so he came looking for me. I was already unconscious, but he said that the first thing he did was use blood-replenishing charms on me." He laughs, which is beyond me. "He screamed when that just made even more blood come out. So he bandaged me, _then_ the blood replenishing. Then he woke me up, to yell at me a lot. When he realized that I wasn't listening at all, he..." Draco trails off, looking down at his wrists.

"So you guys _were_ something, then?" I ask quietly.

He nods, not looking back up at me. "When he saw that I was just sort of staring at him. He kissed me. I didn't do anything at first; I was too sick with misery. But...well, anyway, no need for details. We dated for over a year, doing all the things any relationship would—that was the first time I moved partly in with him. But then he met this other guy, right when _I_ happened to meet another guy, and we broke it off for them" He laughs again, looking back up at me. "Harry and I never got back together—and neither of us have regrets in the matter, I might add—but every other guy we dated, we scared away with our constant chatter about each other. Harry's my best friend; we do everything together. You're the only one I've ever met who stays, even when I seem to talk about nothing but him—even people who _knew_ him left."

"And you're so nice to people, George." He turns his wrists back over to hold onto my hands. "And you've been through so much, and you don't hold grudges against anybody. Even if I don't show it, _I_ happen to hate nearly everybody, and my grudges are terrible. Harry and I still fight about things that have happened way back in first year, and sometimes I have the urge to bring up that one time he and you beat me to a pulp. But you don't argue back with me whenever I say something stupid; you just say 'okay I'll fix it' when I tell you that you've broken something you haven't, for example. Harry argues with me, but I think I need someone who doesn't' so I can learn to stop picking fights with people.

"And you introduce me to people! Harry just assumes I know everybody, or that I don't _want_ to know anybody. But I happen to like knowing people for reasons I will not explain, and because Harry didn't do that we would always fight about it at the end of the day.

"And then all of those little things." He smiles at me, his height level with mine. "You'll be surprised to know that"—he pushes his fingers through my hair"—gingers are my favorite. And your eyes are the clearest hazel I've ever seen, and your _eyelashes_." He blows into my eyes, causing me to close them. "I wish you wore make-up sometimes. I could put you in royal purple and gold. The colors for passion and deviousness."

I open my eyes. "Gold is devious?"

"It is in my world," he says, grinning. "But I'm not done yet. You're not a choice maker. I mean, you want things, but you would rather just go with whatever somebody else wants. I mean, when you have a secret plan you want specific things, but that's not what I mean. I mean...well, you get it, right?"

I nod.

"Good. Anyway, the one of two main reasons—the other is the whole argument thing—is that you're generally a quiet person, but whenever you do talk you explain things great and give great advice!"

I cock an eyebrow. "When have I ever given you advice?"

He giggles. "And you don't even _notice_ it! You only perfected the way I dress thirty times this week. Not to mention you helped me fix nearly all of my problems with Harry. Not on purpose, but the way you act...well, it influenced me. I mean, after I left I went to his place first, and you should have _seen_ his face when I didn't argue when he told me to go clean up the sink."

I smile. "Well, you know me, always here to help."

"And I love you for it. Does that all make sense to you? It isn't stupid, is it? Because now that I've said it I do feel kind stupid, especially considering that I still couldn't stop talking about Harry..."

I smile across at him. "No, I don't think it's stupid at all. It's who you are, that spunky adult. You never really had much of a childhood—I know that—so you gave it your all as soon as you could. Harry was the same way, so you latched onto him." I lean forward and press my forehead against his. "You know I love Fred, and it's weird to say, but you're a lot like he was before...before the war."

Draco cocks an eyebrow. "Are you saying that—"

"Stay with me," I say before he finishes. "At the school. I'm sure we can work something out with Minerva; you could be an assistant teacher, or if it's the right class you can substitute for it. And in the summer we can go over to your house, and we'll invite Harry over every possible chance, and I'll even...I can even come with you to say hello to my family again."

Draco smiles brightly at me, his eyes shining even brighter. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I would love to. I don't know how Harry's going to take it, though."

We both laugh at that, pulling our foreheads away from each other so they don't bonk.

"How long has it been since I first showed up at Harry's?" I ask.

"If we're counting months as thirty days, two months and one day." He says it without missing a beat.

I kiss him, pouring all of my feelings into his mouth. He wraps his arms tightly around my shoulders, and I grip tightly to his hips and pull him into me.

"Alright, alright!" Harry's voice says from the direction of the house.

Draco and I pull our lips apart to turn to the Burrow, and all of Harry, Ginny, and Hermione are standing on the far porch.

"Hey!" I yell at them. "Are you guys holding one of the ears that Fred and I made?"

They laugh awkwardly, and then Harry continues: "At least get out of the cornfield! Gee-wiz, guys!"

"You heard him," Draco says, smiling at me.

"I did indeed," I reply, grinning back.

We apparate away, the three others still laughing at us.

I remember when Fred told me to go to Harry to find love. We both thought that he meant to fall in love with Harry, but we thought wrong.

Fred told me to choose. He told me to choose if I'd be happy or not if I'm forever with Draco. I never did give him an answer, but I think he knows what it is. And even if he doesn't, Dumbledore knows, so he'll tell him. I think Dumbledore put the idea of going to Harry into Fred's head—that's why we were wrong about whom he was sending me to fall in love with.

I think Dumbledore knew what would happen, and I've never loved the old Headmaster more.

_**fin**_

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><p><span>End AN: It may have said the magic ending word, but this is not really the end! I'm writing a sequel about the whole Draco and Harry meeting thing and whatnot. It'll be called _Forever_ (Strawberry Fields Forever? Get it? Get it?), and you can look for it on my profile page thingy! It will be a long while, though, soo...well, you'll just have to keep checking if you want to read it. Sorry, ha.

But aside from that, I hope you liked it, no matter the completely random pairing I put together for the heck of it! Reviews are always loved, as all of my readers are loved 3

Have a nice life, guise!


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